


High Stakes

by Smuffly



Category: CSI: NY
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Don Flack and Adam in peril, Mystery, cliffhangers galore, hostages, whole team fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:27:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 36,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26303410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smuffly/pseuds/Smuffly
Summary: A detective.  A lab tech.  A rooftop.  A cold-blooded killer.  What could possibly go wrong?
Comments: 10
Kudos: 14





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of my earliest fanfics, written quite some time ago and posted on a different site. I'm fond of it because it was so much fun to write. Posting it here is giving me the opportunity to revisit it and tidy it up, pushing chapters together and improving sections where necessary. I've learned a lot since I first wrote this! I hope you all enjoy it. Since the story is complete, updates will be regular (which is a very good thing, as you will discover if you read on).
> 
> Set in Season Seven.

"Feelin' lucky today, honey?"

Don Flack shrugged his shoulders and gave the grey-haired woman a crooked smile. "Hey -you never know, Marisa." Throwing his money onto the counter, he took the ticket and slipped it into his pocket. "Seems like a good day. Sun's out and people are smiling. Why not take a chance?"

"You and the rest of this city," Marisa grinned. "That's the seventh ticket I've sold in the last half hour."

"Then maybe our instincts are good." Don laughed as he turned to go. "Someone's gotta win it, right?"

"I'll cross my fingers for you." She blew him a kiss and giggled like a schoolgirl. The detective's early morning visit was always the highlight of her day.

Leaving the bodega, Don balanced his coffee cup on top of the car and unlocked the door. _Now, if this really is a lucky day,_ he thought, _all the bad guys'll stay in bed and I can finally take a crack at that mountain of paperwork on my desk._

Needless to say, the radio chose that exact moment to burst into life. Flack sighed as he reached for it. So much for wishful thinking.

**-x0x-**

Adam Ross had already been at the crime lab for several hours. A stack of finished reports and test results lay neatly beside him and now he was staring at the elevator doors like a man obsessed. Mac had promised him more time in the field if he cleared his workload. Little did his boss suspect that Adam had been coming in at five o' clock every morning for a whole week ever since the offer had been made. High on caffeine and fizzing with nervous energy, the lab tech was more than ready to call Mac's bluff.

He couldn't really remember the exact moment when he had decided that his dream in life was to be a CSI. For a long time, he had loved his job in the lab. Field work was fun - a different kind of puzzle. But experience had already shown him that the wider realms of detection could be fraught with danger and distress. Each time that happened, he had retreated gratefully into his glass cocoon. And then, unexpectedly, everything had changed. Maybe it was the whole Haylen fiasco. Or perhaps the sudden loss of Stella, which had hit him harder than anybody guessed. All he knew was that the crime lab began to feel smaller - claustrophobic, even - and the city beckoned to him. At first, he had kept his feelings to himself - or so he had thought. Jo was the one who finally wormed them out of him. _Who else,_ he thought with a wry grin. The next thing he knew, he was sitting in the boss's office, trying to justify his grand ambition. Mac had been supportive, but wary.

"You're a hard worker, Adam; I know that. And if you really want this, I'll back you all the way..."

"But?" suggested Adam, sensing the unspoken word.

"But," Mac continued, wanting to frame his next thought as kindly as he could. "Do you understand _all_ the things you'll have to do as a proper CSI?"

"Of course I do." Adam tried to hide how hurt he felt. "I'm not a coward, Mac. I can handle guns as well as any cop - you've seen that for yourself. And I'm tougher than I look. Plus I've been to dozens of crime scenes already, helping you guys out. You gave me a chance to learn and I'm grateful. I've watched you work. I can do this."

"I'm aware of your abilities," Mac said quietly. "That wasn't what I meant." He frowned. "Forget it. Your request is noted, Adam. Prove to me that you're serious."

Now, as the elevator doors pinged open, Adam rose to his feet. _Just wait and see how serious I am,_ he thought, running one hand through his wayward hair in a futile attempt to tame it. Mac stepped out and - almost as though he could sense him - turned his face towards the eager lab tech. Without a word, he nodded once. Adam's face lit up.

"Really, boss?" he gasped, rushing out into the corridor.

"Really. For this whole day, you're a CSI in training, Adam Ross. Don't let me down."

Which, in retrospect, was probably not the most encouraging thing he could have said, but Adam tried not to let that dampen his enthusiasm. "Thanks, boss. Don't worry, I won't. Today'll be great - just wait and see!"

**-x0x-**

Don Flack was a little surprised when Danny turned up with Adam by his side, but he knew enough to hide it. After all, he had heard the rumours. And who was he to throw cold water on anyone's ambition? He hadn't spent a lot of time with the lab tech but, secretly, he rather liked him. Adam was funny, and smart in a way that was far beyond Don's comprehension, yet he didn't shove it in your face. In fact, he didn't really seem to notice it at all. And that whole thing with Sam's car - Don still owed him one for that. Adam as a CSI, though... Somehow, that just didn't sit right.

The detective masked his concern with a cheerful grin as they entered the room. "Hey, Messer. Who's your friend?"

"Ha ha." Danny put down his case. "Adam's with me today, okay? CSI school."

"And Mac thought you were the best one to teach him? I find that hard to believe." Don's eyes twinkled as he pulled a sympathetic face at the lab tech.

"On a roll today, aren't you, detective?" Clapping Adam on the back, Danny looked around the room. "So. What you got for us?"

"I'm thinking homicide." With a few economical gestures, Flack took them on a tour of the crime scene. "Busted lock. Broken coffee cup - just one, so our victim was probably on his own. Signs of a struggle here in the kitchen. Ransacked drawers but not much taken, which suggests the killer was looking for something in particular. And finally, let me introduce you to John Street - apartment owner, recently deceased on account of this strange red hole that seems to have appeared in his chest."

Adam cleared his throat nervously. "Any sign of the bullet?" he asked. "Only, it looks like this guy was shot at pretty close quarters. See the powder burns on his shirt? And the blood pool underneath him suggests that it was probably a through and through, okay, 'cos it hasn't dripped round from this side. There's not much blood on his front, so it must have come from an exit wound in his back..." The lab tech trailed off when he realised that the other two men were staring at him. "What? Did I say something wrong?"

"No, buddy," Danny told him quietly. "That's good observation."

Don checked his notebook. "First officer on the scene didn't see any sign of a bullet. Guess that means it's up to you."

Danny nodded his agreement. "Go for it, Adam. You know the drill. I'll be right here if you need me."

**-x0x-**

As the other two men moved away, Adam studied the body and the bloody mess that surrounded it. John Street was not an old man, and his final expression was one of dismay, not fear. His dark eyes stared at the ceiling, devoid of life, and his fingers were splayed in shock. The gunshot wound had caught him directly in the heart. Adam sighed. He had seen dead bodies before, of course, but mostly down in Sid's domain, where they were cold and clean, and impersonal. The crime scene ones were always worse. So immediate, and so sad...

"Hey," said Flack, catching sight of his face. "You can do this."

"Oh. Yeah, sure. I know." Adam's unexpected smile clearly forced Flack to rethink his assumption. Turning away with a smirk of his own, the detective began to talk with Danny, allowing Adam time and space to settle into his work. That was thoughtful, and now it was Adam's turn to be surprised. Don Flack was a familiar face around the lab, but the two men didn't really know each other well. Mostly, in Adam's experience, the lab tech blurted out whatever information he had gathered and the detective listened with an expression that was either grateful, amused or exasperated, depending upon the urgency of the case. Beyond that, Adam generally kept to the edges when Flack was around. He couldn't say why the man made him nervous. He only knew that he did.

Planning to take a more scientific approach to his bullet hunt later, once the body had been removed, Adam began by searching the walls. He estimated John Street's height to be about five foot nine and, at first glance, the entry wound did not look like an angled shot, so he concentrated on an area that was level with his own head and below, all the way down to the floor, in case the bullet had lost momentum after leaving the victim's back. He worked his way round from the window to the door, but he didn't find a bullet hole.

He did find something else.

**-x0x-**

It was Danny, bending down to look in his kit, who finally spotted that Adam was gone. Glancing across the room, he had expected to see him nose to wall, absorbed in the kind of detailed search that he excelled at. But oddly, there was no sign of him.

"Yo, Adam," he called out, standing up in a hurry. _Nice one, Messer. You've lost him already. Who knew he'd be harder than Lucy to babysit?_

"Maybe he ducked out to fetch something from the car," Don offered.

"Nah - he brought _everything._ Talk about eager. There must be another reason."

They glanced at each other and then at the open door.

"Okay, how about this?" Don pocketed his notebook. "You check around the apartment. I'll go look outside. He can't have gone far. Maybe Sanchez has seen him. I think she's still canvassing tenants."

Danny nodded. It was silly to panic. Still, he couldn't help feeling unsettled by this strange turn of events. Adam was not a foolish man, but he did have flashes of truly naive behaviour - and that was worrying. Danny knew that the lab tech had been burning the candle at both ends for some time now in order to achieve his goal, and he was never at his best when he was tired. He had also been mainlining coffee in order to stay awake. A bad combination.

_I should have been more careful._

As Don approached the door, something new caught his attention. "Hey. Look at this."

Danny hurried over. The print was faint but the marker was clear to see. "Number one," sighed the CSI. "Then I guess we know what happened."

The taller man nodded. "He went to look for more."

"Okay. That's initiative, I suppose. I'm still gonna kill him."

"Stick with the scene. I'll go find him for you. I'm through here anyway."

"Thanks, buddy. Feel free to smack him upside the head when you find him. 'Cos if you don't, I will."

Don was still chuckling as he left the room.

**-x0x-**

Halfway down the corridor, Flack spotted Sanchez. The dark-haired officer was moving from door to door, trying to find someone - _anyone_ \- with useful information. She gave a wry smile when she saw the detective approaching. "I don't think community spirit is rife in this building. We're lucky that someone even bothered to call it in. And I'll bet that tip was anonymous."

"True story," Flack nodded. "Hey - you seen Ross go by?" When she looked puzzled, he continued. "Scruffy hair, little beard, kinda jumpy."

"Oh - you mean the CSI guy?" The woman's brown eyes crinkled in amusement. "Sure. He went off in the other direction, towards the stairs. Kept muttering to himself, like he had something on his mind. He gave me a smile, though." She raised one eyebrow. "He's kinda cute."

"Really?" Don Flack did a double-take and then decided that this was a line of questioning he really didn't want to pursue. "So he went that way? Did he make it to the stairs?"

"I didn't see." Sanchez gave up on her current door, which stubbornly refused to open. Heading off to the next one, she called back over her shoulder. "Better go quickly if you want to catch up. That was ten minutes ago."

Don was almost at the exit when he spotted another marker. 'Two,' it said cheerfully, drawing his attention to a smeared set of fingerprints - as if someone had been running too fast, over-balanced and then reached out to the nearby wall for support. Using his shoulder, Don nudged the door to the stairwell. It opened easily and he stuck his head through. The air was cold and smelled of mildew. _Probably a broken window somewhere,_ thought the detective, liking this apartment block less and less.

Logic sent him jogging downwards. Three floors later, however, he began to realise that there had been no sign of anybody passing. Doubtfully, he leaned out over the handrail and turned his head in the other direction, peering upwards at the dizzying spiral of stairs.

"You gotta be kidding me," he groaned. "Okay, that does it. Next time, I'm sending Messer - and _I'll_ stay put in the nice cosy crime scene."

Taking a deep breath, he yelled out into the open space. "Adam. Hey, Ross! You up there?"

Nothing.

With a sigh, he began to climb wearily back the way he had come.

At last, two floors up from the crime scene, he found number three. This time, it was a red palm print, clearly visible on the metal rail. Don paused for a moment. His mind was racing and he didn't like where it was leading him.

Up. Why up? In cop shows, sure, and corny action films. But no bad guy in his right mind would ever head upwards when there was a clear route down to the exit.

The detective drew his gun and continued to climb the stairs, much more carefully this time. At every turn, he led with his weapon, clearing the next flight with anxious, darting eyes.

Markers four, five and six took him past the last residential floor. Now there was only the roof left. Flack took another moment to catch his breath. He was a fit man, but the spiralling climb had winded him. Once he felt able to continue, he radioed in his position. Then he placed his fingers on the handle and slowly opened the door to the rooftop.


	2. Chapter 2

The bright sun was trapped behind an ugly bank of clouds, making the day feel far less pleasant. This high up, there was also a nasty little wind, and Don shivered as he stepped through the doorway, still clutching his gun. He thought about calling out again, but something stopped him. Instead, he crept forward inch by inch, scanning the area for any sign of the would-be CSI.

It wasn't long before he found what he was looking for.

A flash of yellow caught his eye and he glanced down, only to see the rest of Adam's markers lying in a lonely, muddled heap.

 _Not good,_ thought Flack grimly. Adam would never leave them like that on purpose - and suddenly he began to feel terribly afraid for the man.

Immediately to his right was an abandoned workshop, boarded up long ago with half-tarred planks that were starting to rot away. Flack used it as his cover, moving as far as he could across the width of the roof until there was nothing left to hide behind. Just as he was about to turn the corner, he heard a terrified squeal that cut off sharply, leaving a silent after-beat of menace lingering in the air. Gripping his gun even more tightly between his sweating fingers, Don took a deep breath and peered out into the open.

What he saw there horrified him.

Adam was kneeling down in desperate submission, with his hands laced behind his head and a large gun aimed directly between his eyes. On the other end of the gun was a man that Flack could only assume was their suspect.

"Dammit," hissed the detective. This was exactly what he had feared. He was just about to duck back out of sight and consider his options when his phone began to ring inside his pocket, making him jump. _No way,_ he thought, dismayed that such a hackneyed cliché had given him away. The armed man turned and stared in his direction. Their eyes met unavoidably and a tiny smile tugged at the stranger's lips.

"Hallo there," he said. "Welcome to the party."

**-x0x-**

It seemed childish now, but Adam had felt so excited as he followed the bloody trail of prints all the way up the stairs, like clues in a sinister treasure hunt. Not once had he stopped to ask himself exactly where he was going. Trailing an armed suspect up to a lonely rooftop - _whatever were you thinking, Adam Ross? That you were the Caped Crusader? Or perhaps the Man of Steel? Well, you're not. And this isn't a comic book. And now you're going to_ die.

As soon as he had stepped through the doorway into the open air, Adam had sensed his mistake, and paused. Inside his head, a little voice warned him to turn back - that he hadn't a gun, or even any backup. His logical brain was at war with his stubborn nature and now he didn't know quite what to do. The puzzle was incomplete and he needed to solve it. Besides, how could he ever be a proper CSI if he turned and ran for help at the first sign of danger? Deep down, the lab tech guessed that this was what Mac had been hinting at. His boss didn't think he had the emotional stamina for the job. Adam was determined to prove him wrong - _but not at the cost of your life,_ his brain said quietly. _Mac would never want that._

Which, in the end, was the answer he needed. Shamefaced, Adam turned to leave - but it was already too late.

From out of nowhere, the man appeared, slamming Adam to the ground and pinning him down before he could even attempt to struggle. Stunned for a moment, he felt the world spin around him and his senses reeled with it. When everything finally stopped moving, he found that he was lying flat on his back, with a strange man kneeling on top of him and a gun barrel pointing at his forehead.

Two dark eyes stared down at him sharply.

"Now what in the world are _you_ doing here?" said a mild and curious voice.

Adam searched his foggy mind for something to say that would magically fix this mess he had stumbled into. The words floated around his brain in a skittish dance, staying just out of reach, so that he could not even form a coherent sentence. As if to add to his misery, the man's sharp knees dug into Adam's chest with a painful weight that quickly intensified, making it harder and harder for him to catch his breath. At last, he could stand it no longer.

"Please," he begged hoarsely, forcing the words out in bursts, like a cough. "Get off me. Please... it hurts."

The gun barrel jabbed at his skull and Adam gulped, terrified that he had just signed his own death warrant. But then, to his surprise, the stranger laughed. Rolling nimbly off Adam's chest, he hauled him to his feet with one powerful fist. Adam wobbled, but the man's grip on his shirt was far too tight. And the gun didn't waver for a second.

"Better?" said the man. "Let's try that again. Who are you, and what are you doing here?"

 _Read the vest, you jerk,_ thought Adam, shaking his head mutely. Now that they were both standing up, he found that the stranger was actually smaller than him - a stocky little man with a typical boxer's build, who shifted his weight from side to side habitually. His accent drifted too, from southern England across to New York and home again, often in mid-sentence. Dark hair crept back from his forehead and dark eyes measured Adam thoughtfully, as though he were a new opponent in a sparring match. The lab tech lowered his head, full of fear, but still refused to speak.

"Need some encouragement?" With a sudden flash of anger, the stranger brought the gun down hard across his cheekbone. The force of the blow knocked Adam off balance - but the sharp pain finally cleared the fog in his mind, and now he saw that this was the only chance he might have to escape. Taking control of his fall, just as Danny had taught him, he managed to twist right out of the other man's grasp. At the same time, he flung his arm out and knocked the gun from his captor's hand, sending it flying through the air. With his other fist, he punched the man, right in the face. The stranger reeled back, holding his nose and cursing through a gushing stream of blood. Free at last, Adam ran, not daring to look behind him.

The route to the door was blocked and so, in the desperate hope that there was another way off the roof, he plunged around the side of a ramshackle workshop. But the roof was much larger than he had realised, and now Adam didn't know which way to go. 

One faltering second was all it took for the stranger to find him again. Striding around the corner, he laughed at Adam's stricken face as the lab tech found himself trapped in an open line of fire.

"Hands behind your head," the stranger ordered. Adam had no choice but to comply. The man stepped closer, the blood around his nose and mouth making him seem monstrous. "Down on your knees," he continued. When Adam tried to resist, he simply grabbed him by the shoulder and forced him down. The lab tech gasped as his knees hit the tar. "Now. Name?" insisted the stranger, as though nothing had ever happened to interrupt their conversation.

"A... Adam," sighed the lab tech, defeated. "What's yours?"

Once again, the man laughed; a low, throaty chuckle that spoke of a serious nicotine habit. "That's a fair exchange, Adam. You can call me Bob."

 _One point to me, I guess,_ Adam thought wildly. He stared up at the stranger, still fascinated by the blood all over his face. As if reading his mind, Bob reached up and wiped his fingers through the sticky mess.

"Perhaps I should thank you for that," he said. The next thing Adam knew, a hard fist slammed into his gut. He cried out in pain, but then Bob grabbed his throat and squeezed, hard fingers twisting into his windpipe and cutting off his air supply so that the shriek died away, half-formed and lost in the wind. Bending down, Bob whispered in Adam's ear, and his tone was frightening. "Don't you ever. Do that. Again."

Spots began to blossom in front of Adam's eyes. Carelessly, Bob let go and stood up straight, levelling his gun at the lab tech's head once more.

"Next question," he said. Swallowing desperately, Adam waited - until a shrill noise startled him. It was the sound of a cell phone, and it couldn't be his, because he knew that he had left it running in silent mode. He looked up - and there was Detective Flack, with a horrified look upon his face and his service weapon aimed in their direction.

 _Welcome to the_ _party_...


	3. Chapter 3

Time was passing far too quickly, and neither of his friends had reappeared. Nor were they answering their cell phones. Danny began to feel distinctly edgy. "Time to call it in," he decided bleakly. He didn't want to get Adam in trouble, but what else could he do?

At that moment, Sanchez stuck her head around the door.

"Hey - you seen Detective Flack? I've done my rounds and I'm headed back to the precinct."

"Nah," said Danny. "Sorry. He's not here."

"Still looking for the CSI guy, huh?" Sanchez frowned. "How'd you come to lose him, anyway?"

"He's kinda new at this. And apparently much more intrepid than I gave him credit for. You know which way they went?"

"Stairs," said Sanchez briefly. "Both of them. First one, then the other. Never saw either of them after that." She tilted her head quizzically. "You want I should go look for them?"

"No way. The last thing I need is to lose you too." Danny sighed. "Can you stick around, at least until the M.E. gets here? 'Cos I think I'm gonna need someone to scrape me off the floor when I've explained this to my boss."

**-x0x-**

"I hope you like games," said the stranger. "This one's all yours. I'm going to call it 'Obedience Training'. How does that sound?"

Flack glared at him in disgust. The situation was rapidly spiralling out of control. Trying to hang onto the illusion that he had any kind of leverage left, the detective aimed his weapon directly at the stranger's heart. But out of the corner of his eye, he could still see Ross shuddering on his knees as he gasped for breath. It didn't take much guesswork to imagine what he'd been through already. After that first panicked look, Adam had lowered his head in shame, no doubt consumed by the belief that this was all his fault.

 _Poor guy_ , thought Flack. The blood around the stranger's mouth and nose intrigued him. Did Adam really do that? A memory sprang into his mind, of another rooftop and another fight - only, that time, the lab tech had won. Clearly, this man was a far more dangerous foe.

"Round one," continued the stranger, ignoring Flack's angry silence. "You give me a present. Your gun. Your badge. Your cell phone and your radio."

"And if I don't?" Flack asked him wearily, though he already knew the answer.

"Then your friend here pays the forfeit. Simple, really." The man gave a feral smile. "Rather like you. Now, what's it to be?"

Don stole another look at Adam. The lab tech was shaking his head imperceptibly - but the detective knew that he had run out of chances. Lowering his gun, he set it down and kicked it across the rooftop, just out of reach. _Go fetch it yourself,_ he thought bitterly. But the man only laughed.

"Feisty," he said. "Still, I wouldn't advise you to try that again. And the rest of my present?"

As slowly as he dared, Don unhooked his badge from around his neck and tossed it over to the stranger, who caught it in mid-air with his free hand. Flipping it open, he studied it casually. "Detective Donald Flack. How do you do, Detective Flack? My name's Bob. I'm sure you're pleased to meet me. Now the radio."

Flack pulled both his cell phone and his radio out of his jacket. With a wrench, he bent down and slid them over to Bob. Instead of picking up the phone, the stranger slammed his foot down on top of it, hard, destroying it instantly. Flack winced. The radio, however, was a different kind of prize and Bob hung on to it, stuffing it out of sight in his own pocket. _He's going to negotiate,_ guessed the detective. But the game wasn't over yet.

"Round two," Bob said quietly. "Find a way to lock the door."

Flack blinked in dismay. "You're joking, right?"

Bob grabbed Adam by the hair and forced his head back until the man's frightened eyes were revealed. "Maybe I wasn't clear enough. Find a way to lock the door or I'm going to break his nose."

**-x0x-**

"He did what?"

Danny moved the phone away from his ear but it didn't make a scrap of difference. Mac's angry voice came through loud and clear. Even Sanchez could hear it, and she gave the detective a sympathetic grin before wandering across to the window and pretending to study the view.

"He left to follow an evidence trail."

"Without telling you first?"

"Look, Mac, don't be too hard on him. I think he was just trying to be more independent. You know, show us all what he can do. The fault's mine, okay? I should have been watching him more closely. Laid down a few ground rules. Locked the door," sighed Danny, trying to inject some humour into a desperate situation. The joke fell flat as Mac considered Danny's garbled explanation.

"And you say that Don went after him? How long ago was that?"

"About twenty minutes. They were both seen heading to the stairs. Beyond that, we have no idea where they might be."

Mac's voice was tight with frustration. "I'm coming over. Stay put. And let me know if they come back before I get there."

"Will do, boss."

**-x0x-**

Slamming the phone down, Mac grabbed his jacket and headed out of his office. Knowing that his instincts had been right didn't make him feel any better Adam was a gifted lab tech, but far too intelligent for his own good sometimes. Obviously, this was one of those time - and the very thing that Mac had been afraid of. It never ceased to amaze him how someone so brilliant could also be so clueless. And yet...

And yet, deep down, he was fond of the scientist and his quirky ways. The thought that Adam could be in serious trouble began to override his fury. By the time he reached the elevator, Mac had conquered his temper but his gut was beginning to churn. The doors opened and Jo stepped out. She smiled at first, but then she stopped and took a good look at his face.

"Trouble?" she guessed. Mac nodded.

"Adam's missing. I sent him out with Danny and he wandered off on his own. Apparently, Don went after him - and now they've both disappeared."

"Then I'm coming to help you." Jo stepped back into the elevator and pulled him with her as the doors slid shut once more.

"Thanks." Mac wrestled his arms into the sleeves of his jacket, which had suddenly become very uncooperative. The dark-haired woman watched him quietly.

"You're worried," she observed.

Straightening himself out at last, Mac glared at her, nettled by her redundant observation. "Of course I am. It's Adam. Anything could have happened."

Jo gave a tiny laugh, dissolving the unexpected friction between them. "That's true. But you know, he's not incapable."

"I know that." The elevator reached the ground floor and they stepped out into the lobby. "He's just..."

" _Adam,_ " they both sighed together.

**-x0x-**

Flack seemed reluctant to turn his back on such a dangerous situation and walk away, but Bob was adamant, leaving both of them in no doubt that he would carry out his threat. The desire for payback gleamed in his eyes even as the blood dried on his face.

Adam watched the detective go with some trepidation, not really certain that he was safe while Flack was gone. Keeping his head up, he turned to stare at the man who was holding him hostage. "So - what now?" he ventured, forcing the words out through his aching throat.

"Now I take _your_ phone." Bob held out his hand.

"I don't have one," Adam lied, on the spur of the moment. He tried to make his blue eyes look as innocent as possible. Bob frowned, unconvinced.

"That's ridiculous. Everyone has a phone these days. Especially a geek like you."

"Oh... ah, yes, of course I _have_ a phone," Adam spluttered, wondering why he was taking such a desperate gamble. "But I left it in my kit, okay, down at the crime scene, so I haven't got it with me."

"Shall I check?"

"Go ahead," he breathed. Bob crouched down once more and used the barrel of his gun to shove Adam's vest to one side.

"Damn - how many pockets do you have?" the man growled angrily.

"I - I need to carry a lot of stuff. I'm sorry." Adam winced, feeling oddly violated as Bob's other hand crept in and out of his clothing, searching for proof that his hostage was a liar. What Adam knew, and Bob did not, was that sometimes he kept his phone tucked inside his sock. And today was one of those days. In his eagerness to bring along everything he needed to the crime scene, he had stuffed not only his case but also his pockets with all the kit that he could find. As a result, there was no room left for his cell phone - and so into his sock it went. Watching the growing pile of rubble that Bob threw onto the rooftop, Adam resisted a wild urge to smile triumphantly.

"Alright. I give in. You do carry too much stuff. And it's all crap." Bob rifled through the pile. "Except for this. I do like this."

 _Oh, that's just great,_ thought Adam in disbelief, watching the other man lift up a silver penknife. Bob flicked out the blade and smiled at it gleefully. Adam shivered. _Couldn't put that one into your case, could you? Had to be in your pocket..._

"Want to play?" asked Bob.

**-x0x-**

Around the corner, Don was having problems of his own. Full of doubt, he leaned against the wooden planks and wrestled with his conscience.

As far as he could tell, he had two choices and only a couple of minutes to decide. Choice one: do as Bob asked and find a way to block the access door. Choice two (and this one he hated): call the man's bluff and run for help, back down the stairs to Danny. Help was what they needed most. But abandoning Ross to that maniac? Don just couldn't stomach it. And so, in the end, his choice was made by his own damn loyalty. He would lock the door and trust that their friends would find them.

Which led to his next problem. How was he _supposed_ to lock the door? No doubt the building super had a key which would reopen it instantly, and the only bolt was on the other side. Would slamming it shut be enough to save Adam? Or should he block it with something too? Would Bob even check to see if he'd done the job properly?

 _Of course he'll check,_ Don thought wryly. _He's a perp and you're a cop. He's not going to trust a single thing you do._

Scouting around for something heavy, he noticed an old cast iron plant pot, full of soil and shrivelled stalks. That looked as though it would just about do the trick and so he dragged it across the roof. It certainly seemed to weigh a ton. Standing up for a moment, he massaged his aching back. Then, making sure the door was firmly closed, he hefted the plant pot in front of it. Nothing short of an axe would get through now. Don shook his head. _I can't believe I just did that._

Too late for regrets. Not wanting to leave Adam alone for one more minute with the suspect, Don ran back across the roof and skidded to a halt, full of horror.

Bob had been busy. Kneeling in front of the lab tech, he was slowly twisting a knife up the length of his shirt. A growing pile of buttons lay beside him. He had almost reached the top, and Adam was sweating.

"You're back," said the man, with cool regret. "What a pity. Your friend and I had a little side bet going. He thought you'd be back before I ran out of buttons. I wasn't so sure. Looks like you've saved his neck."

A sick feeling settled in the pit of Flack's stomach. _Right choice,_ he sighed - but then, why did he feel so guilty?


	4. Chapter 4

On the way to the crime scene, Mac had a hunch and decided to call dispatch. He relayed the conversation to Jo, who was driving. "Turns out Flack followed protocol and radioed in his position, not long after leaving Danny. Smart move. He was just about to head onto the roof. They haven't heard from him since."

"Then at least we know where to start looking. Which is a good thing, in a building that size. Mac, don't forget, there may be a simple explanation for all this."

"Really? I'd like to hear it."

She shrugged her shoulders, smiling regretfully. "Okay, well, I can't think of one right now. But you've got to stay positive, right?"

Wrenching the Avalanche into a lucky space, she slammed on the brakes. The medical examiner's truck was just ahead of them, and they followed the gurney up to the fourteenth floor, riding the elevator in anxious silence. Danny was waiting for them when they got out. He was twitchy, and full of concern.

"Still no word," he said. "Sorry, boss."

"Not your fault. Let's just find them. Dispatch confirms Don went up to the roof. Anything else you can tell me?"

"He took the stairs," put in Sanchez. She stood in the apartment doorway, watching them all with serious eyes. "Over there." Shaking her head, she grimaced. "I should have accompanied him. But I didn't know there'd be trouble. I thought he was just following Ross."

"Not your fault either," Jo said quickly. "No need to look for blame right now. I'll head on up to the roof and check it out. Who wants to come with me?"

"That would be me," Danny offered. "I'm sick of lookin' at the same four walls and worryin' my ass off."

"We'll all go." Mac took control. "The M.E.'s here to deal with the body. Officer..."

"Sanchez," she supplied helpfully.

"Thank you. Officer Sanchez can stay with them." Glancing around at his team, he sighed. Not one of them was wearing a bullet-proof vest. "And let's play it safe, alright? No heroics. We'll assess the situation and then call for backup if we need it."

 _That'll be the day,_ thought Danny, knowing full well that his boss would be the first to break that rule if the need arose.

**-x0x-**

"Round three."

Taking Flack's handcuffs, Bob dragged Adam from his knees and positioned both men in front of him. They walked slowly across the rooftop until he found what he was looking for.

"Escapology," he said with a crooked smile. A low wall ran around the edge of the roof. Sticking out of it were two iron rungs, remnants of an old fire escape that had long since been condemned, and removed. "Sit over there." He tossed the cuffs to Adam. "One on your wrist. Through the rung. One on his."

"Very original," Flack scoffed. "Scared we'll overpower you? Looks like the science guy took a real good shot at it already." Sarcasm had always been his release valve. Even now, he knew that it was dangerous to rile the man - but he couldn't seem to help himself. Adam stared at him, wide-eyed.

"Yes he did, and look how far it got him." Bob's face darkened. "Now. Sit down."

With trembling fingers, Adam locked them together. The iron rung was rusty and old but the bolts that held it to the wall were screwed down tightly. No way would they be able to pull it free. Which meant that there was only one way out of their predicament.

"Key," said Bob. "Did you think I'd forgotten?"

"Hoped it," Flack said shortly. He fished in his pocket and pulled out a tiny key. Snatching it out of his hand, the other man threw it over the wall.

"No!" cried Adam. Flack just glared and said nothing. Pleased with his joke, Bob smiled and turned away. Striding back across the rooftop, he went to check the detective's handiwork.

"How're you holdin' up?" Flack whispered, staring across at Adam.

The lab tech gazed back, startled. "Are you kidding me? Detective Flack, I'm so sorry. You shouldn't be here. This is all my fault..."

"Yeah, 'cos you murdered that guy, right? And then forced our new best friend to take us hostage. Adam. This is not your fault." He watched the man shrug and knew that he hadn't come close to convincing him. "Okay. Well, never mind that for now. What are we going to do?"

"Y-you're asking me?"

"Sure I'm asking you. Aren't you the one with the brains? That's what Mac always says."

"He - what?"

Flack waited patiently for Adam to recover. "You're the brains. I'm the brawn. Now, let's put our heads together and see what we can come up with."

Taking a deep breath, Adam smiled and Flack could swear he saw a hint of pride at last. "Well... I guess there _is_ one thing I can do. How would you like to call Mac?"

**-x0x-**

The CSIs were halfway to the roof when Mac's phone rang. Irritated, he clawed it out of his pocket - but then he saw the caller I.D. and stopped dead in his tracks.

"Who is it?" asked Danny.

"It's Adam," said his boss in disbelief.

"I told you," cried Jo. "They must be alright." The two men looked unconvinced. Lifting the phone to his ear, Mac spoke into it quietly.

"Adam. You okay?"

"Ah - not really, boss." His voice was a whisper, so Mac shook his head for the benefit of the other two, who were trying to listen as well. "I'm here with Flack. We're... I kind of got us into trouble..."

"Gimme the phone," said a second voice, exasperated, and suddenly Flack was on the other end. "Mac. That you? We're on the roof, and we're handcuffed together, through an iron rung. The suspect is up here. He made me block the door."

"So we can't get through? We're on the stairs right now, Don. What does he want?"

"He hasn't said. But he's got my radio and I think he plans to use it - probably to call P.D. and negotiate his way out of this mess. Be careful, Mac. He's dangerous. And far too cool. I think he's hiding some serious anger issues."

"Are you hurt?"

"No. But Ross here's looking a little worse for wear."

"I'm fine," protested Adam, over his shoulder. "Flack - hurry up. He'll be back any minute. I told him I didn't have a phone. If he finds out I've lied..."

"Then listen to me quickly," said Mac. "Does the phone have a camera? Can you take a picture - _any_ picture - that will help us to see where you are?"

"Can't promise anything," Flack hissed. "We'll do our best. He's coming..."

And the phone went dead.

**-x0x-**

"I'll do it," whispered Adam.

"Are you sure?"

The phone was tucked into the lab tech's sleeve by now. Bob was pacing nearby, as though uncertain how to proceed. He glanced at them from time to time, but didn't seem to care what they were talking about. "It's the best chance we have. And I know how to work it."

"Are you saying I don't?"

"No, I just... it's my phone, you know, so it's instinct..." Adam saw the look on Flack's face and had to grin. "Okay," he relented. "Not really the best time to try and wind me up."

Don smirked. "I'm relieving the tension."

Adam pulled a face. Turning away from Flack, he began to slide the device back out into his palm. He kept one eye on Bob as he eased it open and keyed the camera function. "Not much battery left," he whispered. "Better make this good." Stealthily, he caught Bob in the screen and pressed the button. The tiny whirring noise made him jump, but the wind was still strong out there on the rooftop and it snatched the sound away before the other man could hear it.

"Got him," nodded Flack. "Now send it. Quickly."

Working as fast as he could, Adam pressed the buttons that would redirect the picture to Mac's cell phone, on the other side of the door. Just as he entered the last command, he heard Flack give a sharp intake of breath. He did not need to look up to know what he would see.

"So you _are_ a liar," sneered Bob as he yanked the phone from Adam's grasp and looked at the screen. "Mac Taylor. That your boss? I guess he's the man to talk to, right?"

Adam stared up in dismay. Had the picture gone? He couldn't tell _I'm in such deep trouble,_ he thought, his heart thudding painfully in his chest. Flack laid his free hand on Adam's arm, trying to calm him down.

"Listen," he said to Bob. "This was my idea. Don't take it out on him."

"What?" Adam turned round, aghast. "But that's ridiculous."

"Will you two just shut up!" Bob snapped. He changed his voice to a whine, and mocked them both. " _It's my fault - no, it's my fault. I'm so noble, let the nasty man hurt me..._ God, you make me sick."

"Then the feeling's mutual," Flack muttered under his breath. Bob glared at him and threw the cell phone back at Adam. "Mac Taylor. Get him for me. I want to talk to him."

"Th-the battery's dying," Adam protested, trying to stall for time as he glanced down at the screen to find out what had happened. _Message sent,_ said the two sweetest words he'd ever seen. Flack squeezed his arm. He had read it too.

"And when it does, I'll use the radio instead. I'm sure the police will be eager to help me out - won't they, Detective Flack? Now do as I say. Or do you want to pay another forfeit? Seems I owe you a broken nose after all... and I'm beginning to look forward to it."

"Okay, okay... I'll do it." Secretly, Adam was happy to call his boss. If anyone could get them out of this, then Mac was the man. In Adam's eyes, he _was_ a superhero. _The Enforcer... Or perhaps the Grim Defender..._

Bringing up speed dial, he pressed Mac's name and then handed the phone back to Bob. _Good luck,_ he thought sarcastically. _Hope my boss eats you for breakfast._

**-x0x-**

"That's him? He doesn't look like much." Danny leaned in and peered at the photo. "What's that all over his face?"

"It's blood," said Jo with uncharacteristic satisfaction.

"Guess Flack got a look in before he was captured, then."

"Or maybe Adam?" she retorted. Danny shrugged.

"Hey - I've been giving him lessons, but do you really think...?"

An unmistakeable ring tone cut him off mid-sentence. Mac glared at them both and answered the call. "Adam? Well done. We got the picture."

"That's lovely for you, but I'm afraid this isn't Adam," said a calm voice in his ear.

The detective stiffened. "What have you done with him?"

"Nothing. Yet. What happens next is really up to you."

Mac's jaw tightened. He keyed his phone onto speaker mode so that the other two could hear his conversation. At this point, every nuance counted, and three sets of ears were definitely better than one. "Who am I talking to?"

"Call me Bob. And can I assume that you are Adam's superior?"

"I'm the Head of the New York Crime Lab," growled Mac in a tone that clearly said: _don't mess with me._

"Perfect. Then, from now on, I'll be talking to you. I don't want anyone else to interfere."

"Don't worry, they won't." _You're all mine,_ Mac added silently. Narrowing his eyes, he gripped the phone so hard that his knuckles turned white. "What is it you want from me, Bob?"

"Actually, I only have one demand," the voice said smoothly Mac waited, his breath suspended in his throat. Danny and Jo kept quiet, wary of giving away their presence. "Bring me my daughter. Up to the roof. Once I hear her voice through the door, I'll let your men go free."

The CSIs exchanged a puzzled look.

"Your daughter? What do you mean?" asked Mac. "Can't you just call her yourself?"

But even as he spoke, the connection was broken.

**-x0x-**

"Damn useless piece of crap," Bob cursed, flinging the exhausted phone away from him in a rage. It skittered across the roof before coming to rest near the tumbledown workshop. Ignoring its progress, Bob swung round and turned on Adam. "What picture did you send?"

"'Scuse me?" Adam gasped.

"You heard me. A picture. What did you send him?"

"Actually," Flack cut in, "it was a lovely portrait of you. Quite a good angle, I thought. Nice and clear."

" _Shut up!_ " Adam could see the angry dints in Bob's nose, and the tightening of his mouth. Something bad was coming - but Flack was on a roll.

"You know what Mac'll do? He'll take that to the lab and, before you know it, he'll have identified you. He'll know every little detail about your life - all the dirt, and the secrets, and the monsters in the closet that you thought you'd locked away for ever..."

"Good," growled Bob. "That's exactly what I want him to do. So you can quit it with the smug remarks, detective. You have no idea what's going on here."

"Enlighten me," said Flack.

In reply, Bob bent down next to Adam and drew out the silver penknife. "Not really your business." He flicked the blade open and held it dangerously close to the other man's neck. Adam twitched, but did not cry out. His gaze was fixed on Don, as though he were drawing strength from him. Don tried not to look away. "And I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't ask me anymore. You may regret it."

With two deft slices, he left a shallow mark on Adam's neck, like a signature. _Mine,_ said the cross. "That's my promise," Bob whispered into his ear. "For later. So you don't forget. Because I won't. No matter what your boss does next, you belong to me."

Adam gasped and clapped his free hand across the wound. Blood trickled through his fingers. Unconcerned, Bob stood up and walked away. The two men watched him go, full of foreboding. A chill breeze followed him, stirring up the dust behind his heels.


	5. Chapter 5

Mac closed his eyes and leaned against the wall. Things had definitely taken a turn for the worse. He hated hostage negotiations with a passion. They were so intense, and so full of deception. Every move was like a chess game, except that the smallest error could cost someone's life. And this time, those lives belonged to Don and Adam.

"Mac. Are you alright?"

He opened his eyes again, only to find Jo staring at him with that penetrating gaze of hers. Damn - he would swear she could see right into his head.

"I'm fine." He raised himself up from the wall and squared his shoulders. Time for action. "Jo, I'm going to need you back at the lab." He held up his hand as she opened her mouth to protest. "Look, I know you want to stay here in case something happens. But we have to get started on the evidence. Get Sheldon and Lindsay to run through it with you - everything that Danny already collected. And lift the prints that Adam flagged before you go. Find out who our suspect is. That's the real key. We can't begin to deal with his demand until we know."

"I understand." Jo sighed. "You keep in touch, Mac Taylor. I want to know every detail as it happens."

"And I want the same from you. Including Sid's initial report on the body. I'm going to keep Danny here with me." He glanced down at the detective, who was sitting on the stairs by now, clutching his head in frustration. "It's probably the best place for him. There's more to find at that crime scene and it'll keep him occupied. Besides, I need a full account of what exactly went down."

"Are you going to call Sinclair?"

Mac grimaced. "Jo - I have to."

"Then get ready for the circus," she warned him as she turned to head downstairs. "And don't let him take control away from you. It could be fatal."

He shook his head. "Work fast. I don't know how much time we have to resolve this. I'll try to get back in touch with this 'Bob', but I need some ammunition. Find me his daughter."

"You know I will." Reaching back, she laid her hand on his arm in reassurance. "Hey now, don't worry. Compared to the usual crazy demands, how hard can this one be?"

 _Famous last words,_ Mac thought, watching her disappear around the corner.

**-x0x-**

"You believe in luck, Ross?" Flack glanced up at the rainclouds which were massing overhead.

"What? I... I'm not sure." Adam continued to clutch at the swollen cross. He seemed distracted, and that was worrying Flack. "I did do an experiment at school. With dice rolls, and chance, and numbers... That was fun. Like Vegas in the classroom. Think I'd be good in Vegas."

"I thought today was gonna be a lucky day. Bought a lottery ticket and everything." He pulled it out of his pocket and stared at it. "But hey, what do I know?"

"Maybe I broke your luck," said Adam in a small voice.

 _Okay. That's enough._ Don shoved the ticket back into his pocket. Then, taking a deep breath, he turned and looked at Adam properly. His face was white - except for the startling bruise across his cheekbone - and his hands were shaking. All in all, he didn't look good.

"Sorry, man," said Flack. "I didn't mean to bring you down. How's your neck?"

"Wh- what?" 

Adam peeled his fingers away, staring blankly at the sticky red mess which coated them. Was that his blood, or Bob's? He couldn't remember. Suddenly, it filled him with revulsion and he began to scrub his hand with the edge of his damaged shirt, harder and harder, frowning as he did so.

"Hey. Hey, man. Adam! Stop that." Flack reached out and stilled the lab tech's frantic motion. "It's okay."

"No. No, it's not." There was desperation in Adam's eyes as he stared past Flack, unable to look at him. "I feel so bad."

 _Time to play the trump card._ "Then let me change our luck," Don whispered.

That did the trick. Bemused, Adam let his eyes slide back into focus. He stared at the detective. "What are you talking about?"

Flack reached into his pocket and brought out a small, silver key.

Adam blinked. "Is that...?"

"The handcuff key," grinned Don, with just a little touch of smugness. "You didn't think I'd let him take the real one, did you? You're not the only devious one on this roof."

"Then what did he...?"

"Throw over the edge? That would be my locker key." Flack winced. "Looks like I'll have to break in to get my stuff when this is all over."

Adam snorted with laughter - and then stopped, surprised at himself.

"See?" said Flack. "Things are never so bad if you can laugh at them."

"Hey! Not fair. I thought you were the one being gloomy."

Flack looked angelic. "That's not how I remember it."

Slipping the key back out of sight, he smiled at the lab tech's indignant expression. "All we have to do is wait for the opportune moment. Let Mac distract our friend over there. Then we undo the handcuffs and escape."

"You make it sound simple," Adam said warily.

"I do, don't I?" They stared at each other, each one trying to guess the other man's thoughts.

That was the moment when Bob came back. Somewhere, he had found a puddle of water and washed the red gore from his face. It made him look cleaner, but not more appealing. He narrowed his eyes and stared at them both suspiciously. "What are you up to?"

"I'm sorry - what on _earth_ could we be doing?" said Flack in his sweetest, most irritating tone. "You've chained the pair of us to a wall, on top of a freezing roof."

"Then make yourself useful." Bob dropped the radio into his lap. "I want Taylor back. Now. Show me how to work that thing."

"Why? Don't you have a cell phone?" ventured Adam. Don's revelation had made him feel a little bolder. "I thought everybody did..."

Bob kicked him viciously in the shin but did not dignify his remark with a response.

Grinning at the lab tech, Flack picked up the radio and opened a channel. He'd been bouncing the problem around in his head for a while and had finally come up with a far more practical solution than trying to get dispatch to contact Mac's phone. _Two for the jock,_ he thought. "Control, this is Flack. Don't ask any questions. Just put me through to Officer Sanchez, asap..."

**-x0x-**

Etta Sanchez watched as the M.E.'s assistant zipped up the body bag. No one could say that her own job was boring, but theirs was truly gross. "Have fun," she quipped. The young man grinned back cheekily and wheeled the victim feet first out of his own front door.

Now Sanchez was alone, but not for long. Messer and his boss came hurrying back down the corridor, their anxious footsteps heralding their return. "You find anything?" She looked past them - but there was no sign of Detective Flack or the funny CSI guy. That wasn't good. Neither was the expression on Taylor's face.

"They're on the roof," he told her shortly. "With the suspect."

"With the...? Oh, that's just great." Now she could see why he looked so grim. "How do you know that?"

"We spoke to them," Messer explained. "And the man who's holding them hostage. But I think Adam's phone must've died or something, 'cos no one's called back since then."

"Are they okay?" Detective Flack was popular at the precinct and Sanchez hated to think that anything bad could happen to him. As for the other man, well, she didn't really know him at all. But his smile was charming and he had a peculiar, wistful quality... Sanchez closed her mind to the awful possibilities. "Don't answer that. Just tell me what I can do."

Taylor considered the question but, before he could reply, the officer's radio came to life. When they heard the voice on the other end, all three of them looked stunned. Without even asking, Mac snatched the device from her hand.

"Don?"

"Mac! Okay, that worked even better than I thought. I was just hopin' Sanchez might've stuck around."

"I asked her to. She's keeping an eye on the crime scene. Where are you?"

Unfortunately, the next voice that spoke was not Detective Flack.

"He's here with me, of course. And proving very useful, I might add. Although I don't like his attitude much. Insufferably cocky - don't you agree? You seem much more level headed. I think I'm going to like dealing with you, Mac Taylor."

"What about Adam?"

"Who? The science geek? Oh, I threw him off the building five minutes ago. You should find him in the alley - most of him, anyway." There was a horrified silence. Then Bob started laughing. "Just my little joke. He's far too valuable for that. Well, just now at any rate. No telling what I might do to him later. Or Detective Flack, for that matter. He your friend?"

"None of your business."

"Think I'll take that as a 'yes'. So. Double the stress for you, then. Have you considered my demand?"

"We need more information first." Mac tried to stay calm but it was difficult. "What's your daughter's name? How old is she?"

"No," said Bob, and his voice was suddenly sharp. "That's your first test. I need to know that you're serious. Come back to me in an hour and tell me that information yourself. If you can do that, I'll know you can bring her to me - and _then_ I'll tell you more. If you can't... well, I've been promising your crime lab geek a broken nose all morning. And I always keep my promises. How about you?"

"You son of a..." So many angry words built up in Mac's throat that they almost strangled him. Bob just laughed again and broke the connection.

"This is insane," said Danny, throwing up his hands in disbelief. "We should just smash through the door and take them back. We could have 'em downstairs in five minutes flat, Mac. I'm telling you."

"Or we could get them killed. We've no idea how dangerous this 'Bob' is."

"Then you need to find out." Sanchez spoke quietly, trying to ease the tension between the two men. "Who _is_ he? Does anyone know?"

Mac clenched his fists and looked her square in the face.

"My team will find out," he said.

**-x0x-**

Lindsay frowned at the scant pile of evidence in front of her. "Danny must have been distracted," she said dubiously.

"No." Jo shook her head. "It just happened so fast. One minute Adam was there, and the next he was gone. Danny gathered what he could at the time but there's more to come."

"Then let's get started." Practical as ever, Sheldon Hawkes reached out and took the phone. "I'll run with this. See what information I can get from it - call history, recent contacts. Even his browser history might give us something."

"Okay." Lindsay laid her gloved hand on John Street's jacket. "Then I'll take the clothes." Feeling a lump in his pocket, she pulled a face. "Wait - there's something in here." She reached inside and felt around with her fingers. "Sheldon, it's another cell phone. Why would he have two?"

As she placed her find on the light table, Sheldon returned its companion. The three of them stared at the phones, sitting side by side.

"I have two," offered Jo. "One for home and one for work. Helps me to stay organised." When Lindsay turned to stare at her, a suspicious twitch in the corner of her mouth, the older woman laughed. "Okay - _more_ organised. I know my flaws and I'm not proud of them."

"There's another possible theory," Sheldon mused, tuning out the friendly banter. "What if one of these cell phones doesn't belong to our vic?"

"You mean it belongs to the suspect?" Jo was dubious. "That's awfully careless of him. In fact," she continued, thinking aloud; "he seems to be making rather a lot of mistakes. Running up, not down - and leaving valuable evidence at the crime scene? Cell phones and a trail of bloody prints? Either he's hopelessly incompetent, or..."

"Or he did it on purpose?" Shaking her head, LIndsay pulled a face. "I can't see why. What would he stand to gain?"

"Exactly what he _has_ gained," said Sheldon slowly. "A team of CSIs to do his bidding."

"But that's insane. He could get himself killed. Why take the risk?"

The doctor picked up both phones. "I guess, right now, there's only one way to find out."

Jo nodded. "Follow the evidence."


	6. Chapter 6

Rain was falling on the rooftop, soft and nasty, like a sinking mist. Adam felt as though he were being bound inside a cloud. Ghostly fingers stroked his face and ghostly whispers promised numb forgetfulness. The feeling made his flesh begin to crawl, and so he did what he always seemed to do when he was nervous. He tuned out the horror movie playing in his head and started talking.

"Detective Flack? You hungry? I know I am, okay, 'cos I had my breakfast at, like, four o' clock this morning. What time do you start work? You always seem to be around - in fact, I sometimes wonder if you go to bed at all, or if you're like this superhuman being who doesn't need sleep..."

"Hey, Ross? You're rambling."

He chewed his lip, embarrassed. "Yeah, I know. But I really am hungry."

"Didn't you bring any food in those pockets of yours?"

"Oh sure. A Snickers bar. Always be prepared, right? It's sitting in that little heap over there." Adam pointed forlornly. Flack sighed.

"I'm sorry. And I know why you're talking. Helps to pass the time, right?"

"Something like that." Adam did not elaborate. Absently, he fingered the swollen mark on his neck and winced.

"You must be frozen," Flack said sympathetically. Adam's shirt hung open since Bob had cut off most of the buttons, revealing nothing more than a thin grey t-shirt underneath. His sleeveless CSI vest did little to protect him from the elements. He was soaking wet and thoroughly chilled. Droplets fell from the twisted collection of leather and beads on one wrist. On the other, an angry, bruised circle was beginning to form beneath the metal cuff. Looking across, he saw that Flack had the same mark on his wrist. Both men had been twisting their arms to get free, even though there was really no need, since the detective still had the key in his pocket.

"Oh, hey, no. I'm fine." Adam's lie was obvious. Fortunately, Flack chose not to call him on it. Eager for distraction, he kept on talking. "Detective? Does it feel like an hour to you?"

"More like fifteen minutes. Your sense of time sucks, Ross." Flack smiled at him to show that he was teasing. "Guess you don't know everything."

"Oh, no - there are lots of things I'm bad at." Adam swiped a raindrop from the end of his nose. "Knowing how to talk to people. Knowing when to stop..." He gave a wary, sideways grin. "Makin' jokes...?"

"You can say that again." Flack played along. "Although I think _his_ jokes are ten times worse than yours." As soon as the words had left his mouth, the detective shook his head. "Sorry. That was dumb."

Adam stared across at Bob, who was sitting on the low wall, further round the rooftop, gazing at the city through the heartless rain.

"You really think he'd do that?"

"Do what?"

"Throw us... me... off." Adam could barely bring himself to say it.

"Course not. Far as he's concerned, he doesn't even have the key to these cuffs." Logic, not always Flack's best friend, came to his rescue in the nick of time. Adam felt relieved.

"Oh. Yeah. That's so stupid of me. Thanks, Detective."

"You know what? We've been chained up here a while now. I think you can call me Don."

Adam's answering smile made them both feel just a little bit warmer.

**-x0x-**

Sid Hammerback was one of Jo's favourite people. He might work in a place that smelled of death and chemicals, but to someone who would always be a profiler at heart, he was a source of endless fascination - from his remarkable glasses to his weird conversational segues. More than that, however, he was warm and full of compassion. He had the typical - and necessary - M.E.'s ability to distance himself from his subjects. But that did not mean that Jo had mistaken the look in his heavy-lidded eyes on those occasions when the bodies struck too close to home. Young girls, in particular, made him pause. That much, she understood herself, because of Ellie. In their line of work, having children was a comfort, but it could also make you afraid. Very afraid.

"How're you doing, Sid?" she said lightly, rousing herself as she walked into the room. The Medical Examiner looked up. and he was clearly pleased to see her.

"Jo! Any news?" Those were his first words, just as she had known they would be.

"That depends on what you've heard already." Jo wasn't sure just how much of the situation had filtered through from the crime lab, or travelled back with the body.

"I know that Detective Flack and Adam are in trouble. Held hostage - on a rooftop? And that this man is involved somehow." Sid gestured to the body on the table. John Street looked pale and innocent in death, but Jo really hoped that he was hiding something useful.

She sighed, and Sid peered into her face.

"You're scared for them," he said. It wasn't a question, but Jo nodded anyway.

"We know they're alive. We've heard their voices. And Don says they're both okay. But Sid, I'm so worried. We don't have much time. So I need to know what you've got already - as much as you can tell me."

The doctor looked hesitant. Turning back to the body, he shook his head slightly and repositioned his glasses. "Unfortunately, very little. It was a clean shoot, close quarters, straight through the left ventricle. No bullet in his body and no signs of a struggle. Clearly, he wasn't frightened for his life."

"That doesn't really help us, Sid."

"I know." His voice was troubled. "There's just one other thing, I'm afraid, and it's probably not that important. An excessive amount of spice upon his skin, and in his hair of all places. I've taken samples so you can identify the blend. Was he cooking at the time?"

"I don't think so."

"Well, I tell you, ever since I did my initial examination, I've had a craving for Kung Pao chicken. Make of that what you will."

"I think your stomach's trying to tell you something." Jo managed a smile as she picked up the evidence, but it was dimmer than usual. "Lindsay's checking the clothes right now. I'd better find out if she's having weird cravings too."

Sid nodded. "Jo," he said nervously as she left. "Keep in touch. Don't forget. They... they're my friends too."

"Of course, Sid." She came back over to him and squeezed his arm for a moment. "I wouldn't dream of leaving you out of the loop. You know that. We're a team."

"Okay. Okay, thank you."

Satisfied, the doctor followed her out of the room with his eyes and then turned back to work. There simply had to be more to find, and Jo knew he wouldn't rest until John Street had given up all of his secrets.

**-x0x-**

"Kung Pao chicken?" Lindsay laughed. "Trust Sid. But yes - that's absolutely right. I found the same trace on his clothes. It was all across his back, beneath the blood. So I doubt that he was cooking, unless he's unbelievably clumsy, or has a very strange technique."

Jo frowned at the woman. "Maybe he works in a Chinese restaurant?"

"Dressed like that?" Lindsay gestured at the faded jacket. It was made of good material, and had definitely seen better days. The nasty green had probably been quite pleasant, once upon a time.

"Point taken. Anything else?"

There was a little pile of paper and fluff sitting on the light table beside the jacket. Lindsay reached out and snagged a tiny note, folded over and over. She laid it in Jo's gloved palm and watched her nimble fingers unwrap the message hidden inside.

"What _is_ that?" Jo wrinkled her nose.

"I don't know - but I don't like it. I found it in his pocket." Lindsay shook her head. "It reminds me of Treasure Island. You remember? The pirates, and the black spot? There's something very sinister going on here. It gives me the creeps."

Both women stared at the piece of paper. It was about the size of a post-it note and worn thin from constant folding and unfolding. Scratched across the centre in what looked like human blood was an angry cross.

 _Death,_ said the mark, without a single word.

**-x0x-**

Danny had finished packing up John Street's computer for transportation. Wandering back to the kitchen, he came across Mac, red-faced and staring at his cell phone as though he would like to pitch it out of the window.

"Let me guess. Sinclair?" said the CSI, with sympathy.

"What tipped you off?" Mac shook his head wearily. "Looks like the snipers are on their way. And the squad cars. And the whole damn media circus."

"You don't think Bob's gonna like that? Maybe publicity is exactly what he wants."

" _I_ don't like that. The media are a liability. And the spin they put on this may well hurt Adam, or the lab."

"What do you mean?" Danny stared at his boss in consternation. "The killer's at fault here, not Adam."

Mac opened his mouth as though he were about to say something. Then he closed it again, and smiled grimly. "Of course," he said. "You're right. I'd better go down and greet them. You keep at it in here. The hour is nearly up and we don't have much to go on. I only hope Jo has something for us. If not..." He let Danny's imagination finish the ominous sentence. He could not bear to say the words himself.

**-x0x-**

"Don," whispered Adam. "Please. Is it time yet?"

The detective sighed. He was beginning to feel like a parent on a long trip with his kid. Adam had been nudging him every five minutes for the last half hour, each time growing more agitated. The wound on his neck had puffed up into a nasty red welt, and he rubbed at it constantly. "Hey. Leave that alone," said Don, swatting his hand away.

"Can't help it," Adam breathed. He clenched his fists. "Why don't we go now? He's been over there for ages."

Don considered. Maybe the lab tech had a point after all. This could be the best chance they had to get away. Bob was peering over the wall, distracted. He seemed to be watching something - which meant that he wasn't watching _them_.

"You're right. We'll do it." Don stared at his companion. "Sure you'll manage? You look a little peaky."

Adam giggled, light-headed with relief. "That's an understatement. But thanks for the concern. I'll manage. I have to. If we wait here any longer, I think I'll freeze to the spot."

The rain had died away, but the two men still felt its after-effects. Their clothes were sodden and their hair was wringing wet. Every now and then, little tremors ran down Adam's arms - unnecessary reminders of how cold they had both become.

Keeping a close eye on Bob, the detective slipped the key out of his pocket. "Keep your arm up," he warned. "Don't let on until the last minute. He may turn around, and we don't want him after us at any cost."

"No, we don't." Adam nodded fervently, gazing at Don with absolute trust. The detective began to feel nervous.

"Adam - look, if this goes wrong..."

"It won't go wrong." The lab tech shook his wrist. "Come on. Let's do it."

One at a time - first Adam's, then his- the detective unhooked the cuffs. He caught them quietly and laid them on the rooftop. "Ready?" he hissed. "Let's go."

Both men leapt to their feet. At the same time, an all too familiar noise cut through the air. The wail of sirens, shrieking to a halt beside the building, far below.

"Oh!" cried Adam, as Bob turned round to check on them.

For one awful second, nobody moved. Then Flack grabbed Adam's arm and pulled, almost yanking it out of its socket.

The two men ran.

"So... sorry... my... fault... too... soon..." gasped Adam, as they plunged around the corner and headed for the door.

"Shut up!" snapped Don, still holding on tightly. No way was he letting the other man fall behind. Neither of them looked back - they couldn't bear to. The fear was almost overwhelming, and their legs moved mechanically, so fast that Don began to think he would lose control altogether.

The shot came much later than they both expected.

**-x0x-**

Don had nearly reached their goal, swinging Adam wildly out to the side so that they wouldn't crash together when he stopped. It was that which saved the lab tech, in the end.

To his absolute horror, Adam saw Don fall. A single cry was all he gave, before his head connected with the plant pot. Adam dropped to his knees. He didn't car about the door any more, or even about the killer right behind him. He had to know if Don was still alive. Reaching out, he felt for the detective's pulse with trembling fingers. Don groaned - a welcome sound, but Adam was still terrified. Blood was already seeping from the detective's leg, where the bullet had ploughed into him. Adam swallowed down the bile that rose in his throat- and then looked up.

"Hello," said Bob.

A heavy fist smashed into Adam's face, right between his eyes.


	7. Chapter 7

When Adam was a child, and in pain, he used to occupy his mind by creating a sliding scale of blows - rather like the Richter Scale but with fists colliding instead of tectonic plates. Lowest on the scale was number one - a sharp, admonishing slap; the tremor that came before the full scale disaster. Midway were the fives and sixes - punches to the stomach or the ribs. Easy to hide but uncomfortable for days.

Bob's blow measured a perfect ten on the scale.

Only twice in his life had Adam experienced pain that came anywhere near it. The first time, he had ended up in hospital with a broken collarbone. Three weeks later, the family had moved to a different town. The second time... he still bore the scars on his hand from the second time.

Up on the rooftop, Adam drifted, not quite unconscious but strangely at peace with what was going on around him. For a while, he was content to stay like this. His eyes were open but the world was hazy. Someone had hold of his ankles, dragging him roughly across the roof. Adam was powerless to stop them, and he didn't even care. Light spun into darkness and the air grew drier - musty, even. A sharp, unpleasant smell clawed at the back of his throat. It was this that finally shocked him from his stupor. Retching, he lifted a heavy hand to his mouth, and rolled onto his side.

The pain in his head rolled with him and he gasped as it slid through his head like a block of concrete. The bridge of his nose was on fire and his eyes were slits in a puffy mass of flesh. His finger tried to probe the area but he snatched them away again, hissing abruptly as the pain intensified.

 _He kept his promise, then,_ thought Adam, wondering just how bad he looked. A moment later, guilt overwhelmed him. _Detective Flack,_ he realised. _How could I forget?_ What was a broken nose compared to a gunshot wound?

Holding onto his forehead in the vain hope that he could push back the growing headache, Adam sat up.

The nausea was so bad that he almost passed out completely. Yet still, unconsciousness refused to claim him and Adam was forced to deal with his situation.

Darkness surrounded him. At first, he was confused. Exactly how long had he been drifting? Had the whole day passed away? How could that be?

 _Don't be an idiot,_ _Adam,_ he told himself harshly. _You've got five senses, not one. Stop wasting time, and use them all._ Sight. Not working well, but now he could see the tiny chinks of light that filtered through the gloom. Smell. The scent of rotting wood and age old sawdust. Taste. Acrid and biting, something nasty in the air. Sound. A gentle cooing, absurdly out of place. And touch. A rough wooden floor, encrusted with something he wished he hadn't just identified.

_Oh, great. I'm lying in bird crap._

Adam reached out with shaking hands, testing the space all around him. Surely Bob would have dumped the detective nearby? Forcing his eyes to open wider, the lab tech peered through the gloom. As he grew more accustomed to it, the little world around him became clearer until, at last, he spotted a dark shape huddled awkwardly against an abandoned tool bench.

They were in the tumbledown workshop. And Flack was still alive.

**-x0x-**

Sheldon gave a whoop of triumph, startling Jo, who was just about to enter the AV lab and check on his progress. "Oh, honey, please tell me you found something," she begged him, hurrying to his side.

"I certainly did." The doctor gave her a dazzling smile and gestured to the screen. "Here's the owner of our cell phone. Meet Robert Finn, aged forty two; a former UK resident who's been living in New York for the past ten years. Fingerprints from the crime scene confirm it too. He's listed with immigration."

"That's him alright." Jo sighed with relief. "A perfect match to the photo that Adam took - minus the bloody nose, of course."

Sheldon grinned. "I heard about that. Good to know that Don got in a couple of swings of his own."

Placing her hands on her hips, Jo frowned at the man. "You know what? I think I'd like to start a pool and put all my money on Adam. Why does everyone assume that it was Don?"

"Are you kidding? Adam?" Sheldon shook his head. "I mean, I love the guy but he's not exactly the Ultimate Fighting Champion."

"Suit yourself." Jo sniffed but her eyes were bright with humour. Leaning in, she studied Bob's details. "What about his family? Mac said we need the daughter's name and age before anything else."

"Take a look at his phone." Contacts scrolled by at blinding speed until finally Sheldon's finger hovered over the photograph of a dark-haired teenage girl. She glared out of the screen with gutsy charm.

"I know that expression," Jo said. "Ellie gets it every night when I tell her it's time for bed."

"Then she's all yours." Sheldon passed the phone to his colleague. "Jo Danville, meet Isla Finn. Fifteen years old, as of three days ago, and Robert Finn's only daughter."

**-x0x-**

"Don," croaked Adam, crawling across the floor on his hands and knees. A steady drum beat was playing in his head by now, but he blocked it out by focussing upon the only thing that mattered. "Detective Flack. Are you okay? Please answer me."

"Go 'way," the dark shape muttered. As Adam drew nearer, Don's features became less blurry, resolving themselves into an expression of stubborn denial. His face was pale and his eyes were closed - but he was awake, and Adam felt a surge of relief that swept through his whole body, leaving him shaking.

"No, detective, I... I can't do that. I need to see what's happened to you."

"'M fine," Don grunted. Adam could tell that this wasn't going to be easy. "Leg cramp is all. Been sittin' down too long. Jus' help me up."

"Detective Flack." Adam reached his side at last and laid a gentle hand upon his shoulder. "You have to stay put. We... we're in trouble. And you've been shot."

"Bull..."

The exclamation burst out of him, choked with pain, but still Don refused to admit that anything was wrong. Peering at his chalk-white face through the gloom, Adam made out an ugly line of red across his temple. "Detective, I think you hit your head. Can you see straight?"

Don opened his eyes and squinted at Adam. If he hadn't been so scared, the lab tech would probably have found it funny - the pair of them peering at each other, nose to nose, like a couple of sun-blind moles.

"You look like crap," Don said finally.

"Tell me something I don't know."

"How 'bout me?"

"Oh yeah, crap too, no doubt about it." Adam kept his tone light, but frankly he was worried. The detective's words were slurring and, even now, he slipped closer to the floor. "D-Detective Flack. I need to look at your leg."

"S'right there."

"I know. But... I need to touch it. And I might hurt you. Please... please don't lash out. I'm only trying to help, okay?" Silence. "Detective Flack?"

"Th... thought I told you." Clearly the man was struggling. "Call me Don."

Adam's smile came out again but the effort cost him, as pain shot through the upper half of his face. "Sorry. Don. Are you ready?"

"Ready," said Don, between clenched teeth. Closing his eyes, he turned his face away. Adam bent over his leg and tried to examine the ugly wound.

 _Wish I had Sheldon here right now,_ he thought. _Or maybe Sid._ Removing his CSI vest, he slipped out of the ruined shirt as well and tried to tear it into strips - something that always looked so easy in the movies. What Adam actually ended up with were a couple of scruffy damp rags. Full of shame, he turned one into a kind of pad and then strapped it across the gunshot wound, using the other pieces of cloth to tie it firmly in place. He wasn't really sure if it would help, but it might stop the blood flow, at least for a little while. Balling up the vest, he tucked it under Don's calf. It didn't raise his leg very far - _but what else can I do_?

"Bad?" the detective asked him quietly. Adam wavered.

"I... the bullet's still in there, I think. And I don't know how to get it out. You need a doctor. Maybe..." He gulped. "Maybe I should ask Bob..."

Don shook his head emphatically - but the action was too much for his rattled brain. With a whimper of dismay, he folded over and crumpled to the floor.

"Yep," sighed Adam. "Guess that settles that."

**-x0x-**

"So, Taylor. I hear your guy went AWOL."

"That's not what happened and you know it."

Mac glared at the bull-faced man in front of him. Why did it have to be Baxter, of all people? His tactics were sloppy and his mouth was legendary. Now here he was, in charge of a team that held the lives of Adam and Don in their hands. _Thanks a lot, Chief. Great call._ At least Mac had been granted ultimate authority. That meant he could rule against the captain if he made the wrong decision. Whatever the consequences. Unfortunately, Baxter knew it too - and that made him bitter.

"You shouldn't even be out here," he said. "Sinclair should have pulled your ass off the case the moment he heard about it. What, you think we can't resolve this thing without you?"

"The suspect called _me,_ " Mac retorted, trying to hold down his anger. "I'm the one he wants. Besides, I know how to handle hostage negotiations."

Baxter sneered, his tiny eyes narrowing even further. "Oh, yeah, that's right. You've got experience. Only, as I recall, the last time you did this, you helped the bad guy out of the bank and then ended up at the bottom of the river. Tell me again - which part of that is 'handling it'?"

"I'm not going to stand here arguing with you." Mac shoved his hands deep into his pockets and clenched his fists. "When you're ready to deal with me, I'll be in the command centre. Trying to save my men."

"Your _man_ ," his foe muttered. "Don Flack's one of ours, you arrogant jerk."

Somehow, Mac managed to turn and walk away.

**-x0x-**

_Ask Bob._ Adam gulped as he stared at the open gap in the rotting walls. _Just like that. Piece of cake..._ But there was Don, still lying on the floor, and so Adam closed his mind to the fear and began the awkward process of clambering to his feet. His fingertips brushed a nearby table. Somehow, the contact helped him to find his feet. When he gasped with relief, the pigeons nestling quietly in the rafters took fright and rose from their perches. They circled around his head, making him wobble dangerously, and then fled the building altogether. _So easy,_ thought Adam. _Sometimes I wish I could fly..._

Unfortunately, their rapid exit had caught Bob's attention. A dark and ominous shadow stepped into the doorway, stealing what little light there was. Adam couldn't see the man's face but really, he didn't need to. It was imprinted upon his memory now and would probably stay there forever. _However long that might be._ Adam blinked away the random thought and steeled his nerves.

"E-excuse me," he stammered - and then his mind went blank. How could he possibly bargain with this man? He had no leverage and no powers of persuasion. _Oh, Mac,_ he thought helplessly. _What I wouldn't give to have you here with me right now._

But Mac wasn't there. It was him, or no one. And Don would die if he failed. Fixing his boss's stern image foremost in his mind, he tried again, louder this time. "Excuse me." Bob stayed silent, watching him with what Adam could only assume was callous amusement. "The detective's really hurt. I think he needs a doctor."

There was a crackling noise, and Bob lifted the radio that he had hidden by his side.

"Did you hear that, Taylor?"

Adam's heart almost stopped.

**-x0x-**

Proof of life. That's what he had demanded. Not proof of imminent death.

Mac paced through the ground floor apartment that served as a temporary command centre. The rest of the building had been cleared - not without some difficulty. Sanchez was right. The tenants in this high rise were particularly stubborn and uncooperative, and they really didn't want to leave their homes. Even with the threat of an armed killer at large on their roof and half of the NYPD parked on their doorstep.

"Look," he growled into the radio. "I did what you wanted. I found out the information and I'm going to bring your daughter. Now I need something from you in return. Let me help Detective Flack. Tell me what's wrong with him."

On the other end, Bob considered. "You know," he said at last, "I think I'll let Science Boy spin you that tale. He's good at telling stories..."

**-x0x-**

The radio was shoved into Adam's hand. He blinked in bewilderment. "What am I supposed to say?"

"Just tell your boss how his friend got hurt. I'm sure he'll be sympathetic."

Adam swallowed. This was a pivotal moment. "Mac?" he ventured.

"Adam! Are you okay?"

 _Not really._ "Um... yes. I think so. I... I'm fine." He looked up to see his old friend, the barrel of Bob's gun pointing in his direction. "Well, a little bruised here and there. But Don's hurt worse."

"Tell me what happened. Just like a lab report, Adam. One step at a time."

 _One step at a time. Okay, I can do this._ "Detective Flack had a key to the cuffs. He hid it from Bob." Adam's eyes were lowered by now. It was terribly hard to concentrate. "I... we waited and waited. We wanted to find the right moment. But I kept pushing..."

"Adam." Mac's voice was tense. "I'm not looking for blame. I want to know what happened. Just the facts."

"B-Bob was distracted. So Detective Flack unlocked the cuffs - but then the sirens came. We had to run. There was no other choice. Bob chased us..." Swallowing, Adam risked a nervous glance at the shadow in the doorway. "Boss, he shot him. Right in the leg, and then Don fell and hit his head on a pot or something, and I tried to see if he was alive, but then Bob... Well, he dragged us..." Suddenly Bob's gun was right in his cheek, and Adam paused.

"No location," the man hissed. Adam gulped and nodded, as the barrel was removed.

"Okay, boss, sorry. I'm not s'posed to say. But when I woke up, I tried to help him - Detective Flack, I mean - and I bandaged his leg a little, but there's nothing else I can do, and Mac, I'm really worried, 'cos n-now he's unconscious again..." The panic was rising in Adam's throat, and he stuttered miserably to a halt. Bob nodded, satisfied.

"Wait - when you woke up? What happened to _you_ , Adam?" asked his boss, just a little too late. Bob snatched the radio out of Adam's hand and pushed him backwards, watching him stumble and fall with no trace of pity whatsoever.

"Adam's fine. It's your cop friend you should be worrying about. So here's my next deal. Three more hours, and you tell me who took my daughter. Then I'll let a medic onto the roof. Understand?"

"Who _took_ your daughter? You mean she's been kidnapped? Is that what this is about?"

"You know, I could tell that you were smart," snapped Bob. "Three hours - or less, if you've any compassion for your friends. Say goodbye, Science Boy." He aimed his foot at Adam's stomach but the lab tech clenched his teeth and refused to cry out. "Suit yourself. I'll do it for you. Goodbye, Mac Taylor. Hope your men are still alive when you call back again."


	8. Chapter 8

"That's it!" Danny groaned, throwing the printing brush back into his case. Fine white powder flew into the air like a tiny mushroom cloud. "I can't squeeze one more piece of evidence outta this place. I'm callin' Mac."

"Thank the good Lord for that." Sanchez stalked to the door and peered up and down the corridor. "We're the only ones up here, you know. It feels so strange. Like the crackle in the air before a storm. I swear, the building knows that something bad is happening."

"You superstitious, Sanchez? Never would have thought it."

"Of course not, Messer. I'm just saying, that's all. I don't like it."

Nonchalantly, Danny keyed Mac's number. "Scaredy cat," he whispered, just as he lifted the phone to his ear. "Hey, boss. You got a minute? I need to talk to you." Sanchez stuck out her tongue, robbed of the chance to retaliate - which, of course, was exactly what Danny intended. He smirked and turned away.

Not wanting to intrude as the detective begged for his release, Sanchez crossed the room once more and stared out of the window. The glass was grimy but she could still make out the building opposite. Etta's eyes were sharp and she liked a challenge. _Spot the sniper,_ she thought - and began to study all the high places. It wasn't long before she found him. Really, men had no imagination. Dark barrel, resting on a pale grey ledge. _Ever heard of camouflage?_ Enjoying her game, she started to compile a list of hiding places that she would have chosen instead. She was so absorbed that she never heard Danny creeping up behind her.

"Boo!"

She spun around, startled, her knuckles an inch away from striking his jaw.

"Good reflexes," Danny said, pulling a face. He pushed the fist down to her side and stepped backwards.

"Messer, you pig, that's not funny." Sanchez was grinning, though. "What did your boss say?"

The detective shrugged. "Time to go back to the lab. We're all done here."

"What about my radio? I need it."

"Better take that up with him. He's down on the ground floor, apartment number three." Danny picked up his case. "Well, Sanchez, it's been a blast."

"Likewise, Messer." Brown eyes held his for a moment, deeply serious. "I hope your friend gets out of this okay. Detective Flack too."

Danny's good humour fell away, as the weight settled back on his shoulders. He nodded briefly and left the apartment without a word.

**-x0x-**

"There you are," said Jo when Danny stuck his head around the office door. "Did you bring me more evidence?"

"Like you wouldn't believe," he sighed. "I was a little frustrated, and I may have got carried away."

She shook her head wearily. "Thorough is good. Who knows what you managed to gather up, somewhere in the mix. Give it..." _To Adam,_ she thought. _That's what you were going to say. Admit it._ Her heart ached, but she pushed on valiantly. "Give it to the techs on duty. Share the load."

"Okay. Then where do you want me?"

Jo stood up and came round the desk to meet him. "Actually, out in the field again. Lindsay and I are going to visit the wife and find out more about this daughter. See if she really has been kidnapped, or if this is just some kind of sick game. I need you and Sheldon to do me a different favour."

"What's that?" Danny asked suspiciously.

"Well - we found a ridiculous amount of spice on the victim's body and clothing. Like he'd been in some kind of Chinese food explosion..." She gave a lop-sided grin. "It may be nothing, I suppose, but my gut tells me it's important."

"There was no Chinese food in the kitchen," said Danny, with feeling. "Believe me, I know. So, wait... are we gonna check out every Chinese restaurant in New York? 'Cos I could do that." He patted his stomach.

Jo laughed. It was good to have him back. "Fortunately, we've managed to narrow it down. The exact mix of spices on John Street's body is a manufactured blend - and it's an expensive on. Red Pagoda, imported straight from the Orient. Only a handful of New York restaurants use that company."

"How many constitutes a handful?"

Jo looked suitably penitent. "Ah... twenty?"

**-x0x-**

Sanchez wasn't the only one to have spotted the sniper. Bob's sharp eyes had picked him out as well, and two more besides. Angrily, he paced up and down the workshop, afraid to step outside.

"Mac Taylor," he fumed. "Thinks he can just shoot me and steal his happy ending? Well, I'll teach him."

 _What does that mean,_ Adam wondered in dismay. Surely Mac hadn't made things worse? Or was someone else in control by now? He pictured a ring of snipers all around the rooftop, waiting to fire. The image was frightening.

Beside him, Don muttered urgently under his breath. Lost in a wandering, pain-induced nightmare, he leant on Adam's shoulder, his dark head bowed. The lab tech had tried to prop him up, hoping to wake him, but so far Don was still little more than a dead weight. Heat crept out of him and travelled down Adam's arm. That wasn't good either.

"Detective Flack," he whispered. "Don. Can you hear me? I'd really like it if you woke up now." He looked up, his blue eyes wide and fighting against the gloom as he watched Bob pace. "I wish there was more I could do to help you. But Mac knows you've been hurt, and I'm sure he's doing everything he can. We... you just have to hang on a little while longer. Don't leave me, okay? And I promise I won't leave you..."

**-x0x-**

Waiting. Mac hated it. Right now, he almost regretted his demand to be in control. He felt like nothing more than a glorified traffic cop, sending people left and right - some to the top floor and some to the stairwell, some to the buildings opposite and some to control the crowd. Meanwhile, his team were following leads and tracking down the vital information that would save their friends. Shouldn't that be his job too?

One look at Baxter answered his silent question.

The bull-necked man was standing beside a bookshelf, thumbing idly through a paperback. Storming up to him, Mac released some of his pent-up frustration by ripping the novel from his fingers and tossing it halfway across the apartment. "Is this the example you set for your team?" he demanded hotly.

"Don't you dare!" exclaimed the captain, embarrassment making him reckless. "Don't you dare presume to tell me how I ought to do my job. Just do your own, and stay out of my way."

Shouldering past the startled detective, he strode off in a fury.

"What's eating him?" asked a mild voice, full of curiosity.

"Man's an ass," Mac replied shortly, as Officer Sanchez entered the room.

"And I'm guessing you just told him so. Sir," she added hurriedly.

"I may have done." Already, Mac's temper was cooling and the regret was creeping in. He knew that he could have - _should_ have - handled things better. Oddly, he found himself wishing for Jo. But he'd sent her away to lead his team and now, instead, here he was with Sanchez. The officer watched him with thoughtful eyes.

"How can I help? I'm sure the precinct can spare me a little longer."

"Thank you," said Mac, and he meant it. "But don't get yourself into trouble on our account."

"No trouble," she insisted. "Aren't you in charge? Besides, Flack'd do the same for any one of us."

As Mac listened to her straightforward point of view, the clouds of fear and worry parted, leaving his mind clear. High above him on the rooftop, his two friends huddled, lost and in pain. What was the point of petty confrontation? They needed him, and that was all that mattered.

A new idea began to take shape.

"Come with me," he said to Sanchez, striding from the room.


	9. Chapter 9

Hypnotised by Bob's incessant pacing, Adam began to droop. Sleep was the cowardly option, he knew, but right now all he wanted was to let his mind escape. _Just for a little while,_ he thought wearily, shifting under the weight of his injured companion. He closed his eyes with a tiny sigh and started to let go.

Seconds later, a noise like the wrath of God tore through his skull. Adam yelped, and even Don was shocked out of his stupor. Bob stared up at the trembling rafters, clamping his mouth shut as dust filled the air around them.

"What is it?" cried Adam, fighting to be heard.

"Helicopter," Don Flack mouthed, awake at last and pushing himself upright.

As the blood began to circulate more freely through Adam's arm, he hissed and clenched his teeth against the cramp that held him rigid for a moment. _Helicopter?_ Images of black-clad soldiers hurtling down on ropes filled his head. Clearly, Bob was having a similar experience. For the first time, Adam saw something close to fear in his eyes. Reaching out, Bob gripped the lab tech's arm - the same arm that still throbbed with pain - and hauled him to his feet.

No explanation was necessary. Wrapping his arm around Adam's throat, Bob lifted his gun to the other man's head once more and stepped out of the workshop. His human shield stumbled awkwardly in front of him, not knowing which way to turn. Both men looked up - and Bob gave a snort of bitter amusement.

"Typical," he barked in Adam's ear.

The chopper that rode the air above them, safely out of bullet range, belonged to a local news station.

"Smile for the camera." Bob ducked his own face out of sight. Adam didn't know whether to laugh or cry. No imminent hail of bullets, then - but no rescue, either. Staring up at the helicopter, he saw two anxious faces peering back at him.

"Rooftop," said an amplified voice, through a squeal of static. "This is a mercy mission. We have a package for you."

Bob kept silent. Adam could feel the man's harsh breath on the back of his neck.

"I've been instructed to give you the following message." The crew member's voice was female, and full of authority. Gazing up at the woman's face through the window of the helicopter, Adam was troubled by the thought that he had seen her somewhere before. A news report, maybe? _You mean I'm gonna end up on T.V.?_ He lowered his head. So, there it was. The final nail in the coffin on his new career, before it had even started. Mac would never want a CSI who could get into this much trouble.

_Assuming you're going to live long enough for that to be a problem._

Clenching his fists, he forced himself to listen as the woman's voice continued.

"The contents of this box are freely given. No tricks. Use them to help your hostages and yourself. Do you accept?"

Still Bob was quiet. "Please," Adam begged, turning his head to the side as far as he dared. "Say yes. What harm will it do? We need it. _You_ need it. Surely you can see that?"

"Don't you _tell_ me what to do," his captor hissed. But Adam could sense that he was wavering. "Alright," said Bob, at last. "Give them a sign. We'll take their precious package. _My_ decision," he added, stabbing at Adam's temple with the barrel of his gun.

Adam felt a surge of pride. _No,_ he thought. _Mine_. For once, he had managed to hold his ground and the tiny victory filled him with indescribable warmth.

**-x0x-**

Don Flack waited anxiously for Adam and Bob to return. He had heard the amplified message and he knew the source of their gift. _Sneaky tactics,_ grinned the detective. _Nice one, Mac._ It was good to know that someone was looking out for them. He wondered if Adam was still okay. The lab tech hadn't looked good, the last time he studied him. And Bob had taken a real dislike to him - so much so that making him suffer seemed to give the guy some kind of creepy pleasure. Maybe it was Adam's vulnerability. Don only hoped that, underneath, his companion had hidden strengths.

At last, the chopper banked away from the rooftops, thunder churning in its wake. The silence that it left behind was eerie. Listening to the blood pound in his ears, Don pulled a face. The headache from hell was creeping up on him. He lifted one hand to fumble at the tight bar of pain across his forehead. To his surprise, his fingers came away icy and coated with sweat. _But I'm hot, not cold,_ his muddled brain protested. As for the throbbing sensation in his leg - well, the less he chose to think about that, the better. Trusting to his stubborn will, he pushed the pain as far away from the active part of his mind as he possibly could, trapping it behind makeshift walls of distraction and denial.

The pounding in his head began to separate until it turned into footsteps; two sets, one firm and one erratic. Lifting his eyes to the doorway, he watched as Adam entered, followed doggedly by Bob. Cradled in the lab tech's arms was a styrofoam box. It was clearly too heavy for him, but Bob did nothing to help, preferring to watch him struggle as he tried to stop it slipping through his fingers.

"There," said the man, and Adam hefted it onto the empty workbench. "Now. Step back and sit with _him_."

His eyes still lingered regretfully on the box but Adam did as he was told, shuffling backwards and sliding down to land beside Don with an awkward _thump._ "Hey. You're awake," he whispered, his raw voice full of relief.

"Looks that way. Though I kinda wish I wasn't. What's in the box, do you suppose?"

Adam considered, checking his guesses one finger at a time. "Ah... water, okay; that's a definite, which is good, 'cos I bet you're thirsty. Bandages and stuff, I hope, 'cos they know that you... I mean, he... well, you're injured."

"You gonna patch me up, Ross?" the detective interrupted, as Adam floundered. "I Iike what you've done so far."

"Oh... that. I'm not very good, you see."

Don squeezed his hand. "That's bull. You're better than you think. How'd they come to know about my leg, anyway? You tell 'em?"

"Yes," breathed Adam. "I spoke to Mac." He giggled nervously. "I asked for help and it fell from the sky. We... we've got three hours, okay?"

"Three hours till what?" Don's tone was suspicious.

"Till you get a medic. That's what Bob said. If Mac does what he wants."

"And what was that, exactly?"

Adam's eyes followed the killer, who was slowly lifting things out of the crate and lining them up on the bench, absorbed for the moment. "He wants his daughter."

"Yeah - we knew that. So, what's the problem?"

"She's been kidnapped or something. I think he wants Mac to get her for him."

Don shook his head. "In three hours? Then we're screwed." Staring at Adam's crestfallen face, he regretted being so forthright, but really, what chance did they have? Better to be honest and deal with things head on.

Adam lowered his eyes. "I trust Mac," he whispered.

"That's good," said Bob, who had finally finished his unpacking. He stood in front of them, Adam's penknife dangling from his fingers. Don felt a crazy urge to leap up and grab it - but moving was kind of an issue right now, and so the moment passed. "Let's all trust Mac together. In the meantime, I've thought of another round for my game. It's called 'Truth or Consequences'." He gestured to the line of prizes ranged across the bench. "So, gentlemen. What shall we play for first?"

**-x0x-**

"And you never saw Detective Flack?"

Mac and Sanchez stood in front of a laptop, watching the footage captured by the chopper.

"No. But both of them came from this structure here." She pointed. "It looks like some kind of shed. If he's wounded, like your man said, he could be inside."

"What _is_ that place?" Mac peered closer at the image. Sanchez shrugged.

"It's a workshop," said an unexpected voice. "Added on to the building in the early seventies. Somewhere for the super to keep his tools and do small odd jobs."

They turned around. Baxter had entered the room behind them and now he offered Mac a rolled-up set of plans. "I thought you might need these," he added, flushing slightly.

Mac accepted the blueprints with solemn grace, recognising the gesture for what it was - an apology. "Thanks. I do." Stepping backwards, he made space for Baxter, welcoming him into the group. The bull-necked man took his chance. Sanchez smiled at him warmly.

"Nice move with the chopper," Baxter continued, feeling more at ease. "How'd you get 'em to do that?"

"I negotiated." There was a wicked twinkle in Mac's eye as he used the term deliberately. "Offered them something they couldn't refuse."

"Let me guess," said the captain. "Exclusive rights to the footage?"

Taylor nodded. "It took about five seconds for them to agree."

Together, the three of them stared at the tiny figures on the roof. It was hard for Mac to convince himself that what he was seeing was real. The fact that it was Adam - sensitive, kind-hearted Adam - only made it worse. The man should never have left the lab. _Next time my instinct screams at me, I'll listen,_ Mac thought grimly.

"Look," said Sanchez. "Watch his lips. He's saying something to Bob."

Mac paused the footage and zoomed in closer. Pressing 'play', he studied Adam's face. Beside him, the officer grinned. 

"He's persuading him to take the box. I never caught that before. See, here comes the sign."

 _Well, I'll be damned,_ thought Mac.

The smile on Adam's battered face said it all, as he waved his arms above his head. "I knew I liked that man," Sanchez said quietly. "You've got a good one there, Detective Taylor." With a shrewd look in her dark brown eyes, she waited for Mac's response.

"So it would appear," he nodded. Deep in his gut, a small knot of tension slowly began to unwind.


	10. Chapter 10

"What I don't understand," said Lindsay, "is how a father can cut off his child without a single penny. I mean, Michael Street is worth millions. And look where his son was living."

"Life lesson?" offered Jo. "I checked into John Street's financials. In the last year alone, he blew through ninety thousand dollars. The man's in debt up to his eyeballs. _Was_ in debt," she corrected herself, with a sigh. "Had to be some kind of vice. Gambling would be my first thought, since we didn't find any evidence of drug use in his apartment - other than super-high quantities of caffeine."

"Maybe he's been hanging out with Adam..." joked Lindsay, before faltering into silence. Jo gave her a friendly nudge and opened the door.

"Come on," she said. "We're here."

'Here' was the shaded entrance to a prestigious New York apartment complex. A doorman, resplendent in scarlet, greeted them with a look of disdain - one that he had clearly been practising at home, in front of the mirror.

"Good day," said Jo, warmly. Lindsay folded her arms and kept silent. It was fun to watch Jo at work sometimes. She was just so... cheerfully relentless. "We're from the Crime Lab. Do you know this man?" Holding up the I.D. photo of Robert Finn, she glanced at the doorman's name tag. "Frederick. According to our research, he's a listed tenant here."

Frederick unbent a little and deigned to look at the picture. "Quite right," he said. "Top floor, 5F. Almost the penthouse - but not quite." The look he gave was meaningful and they caught it at once.

"Aspirations of grandeur, unfulfilled," Jo nodded thoughtfully. "Thank you, Frederick. And his family?"

"Daughter. Teenage." Frederick's look of dismissal was plain. Only adults counted in his world. "And a rather surprising wife."

"Surprising? How?" asked Lindsay, speaking for the first time. Both women leaned in ever so slightly, inviting his confidence.

Underneath his starch, the man was a gossip, plain and simple. Now that they had set him off, there was no stopping him. He raised one eyebrow, delighted at the attention.

"Quiet. Mousy. And really rather shabby." Frederick sniffed. "In my opinion, a man like Finn would normally choose a woman who gave him... something."

"Something?" pressed Lindsay, although she knew exactly what he meant.

"Borrowed plumage. The man has money, but what he needs is glamour. Mrs Finn is hardly what you would call a trophy wife."

"Perhaps he loves her," she suggested quietly. The doorman's harsh reaction shocked her. Shaking his head, he spat on the pavement behind him.

"Love?" he barked, wiping his mouth with the edge of one white glove. Lindsay winced. "I really doubt that. Robert Finn's a... what do you crime people call it? A sociopath. Devoid of all feeling, unless it's the pleasure of causing people pain. Ask his wife. She won't tell you, but you'll see it all the same."

"And his daughter?" Jo asked him.

"Stays with her friends most nights, as far as I can tell," the doorman admitted. "She hates the man. They both do. But you didn't hear that from me," he added suddenly, straightening up and crossing his hands behind his back. "I need this job. And we're not supposed to tittle-tattle."

"No gossip." Smiling warmly, Jo patted his arm as he let them in. "Just a helpful citizen, assisting with our enquiries. Thank you, Frederick. You've been a treasure."

Lindsay tried not to laugh at the poor man's disconcerted expression.

**-x0x-**

Of course, it was Adam that Bob chose to go first.

Ordering him into the middle of the room, the killer retreated to the opposite wall and stared at him greedily. "I want a memory," he said. A chink of afternoon light fell across his face, making his dark eyes gleam. Adam swallowed.

"What kind of memory?"

Bob shrugged. "A childhood one, I think. They're always so intense. The worst you can remember."

"Why?" The exclamation burst from Adam's lips before he could stop it. This game was ridiculous and he didn't want to play.

"Because I'm asking you." Bob's voice was low by now and his tone was frightening. "We ought to get to know each other. We're going to be here some time."

"And if I don't?" Adam shuffled his feet and tried not to look intimidated. He could feel Don's gaze on his back, and it gave him strength.

"No prize. And, of course, the consequence." Bob twirled the knife between his fingers, as though he were playing, but the meaning was terribly clear.

"Okay. Okay..." Adam closed his eyes to block out the image. _I'll do it for Don,_ he thought. _Not for you._ "Then I want the first aid kit."

"Not the water? Or the food?" Bob grinned maliciously. "Oh, what a hero. I hope your wounded friend over there is grateful. I guess we'll soon find out, when it's his turn. Now. Your memory, Adam, please. And make it a good one. If I think you're holding back, the round is lost."

Something fierce and hot rose up in Adam. He glared back at the man with violent dislike. _Then you'll get what you wish for._ Pressing deep into forbidden thoughts, he searched for a truth that would shut Bob up completely. A memory that no child should possess, especially a frightened six-year old boy. Trying not to think about the fact that Detective Flack would hear it too, he launched into his story.

"It was summer," he said in a husky voice. "I was playing outside on my own. Practising my swing, okay, 'cos Dad said I hit like a girl."

Bob smirked. "How old were you?"

"I was six," Adam whispered. He closed his eyes again, and the memory drew him in deeper. "And Dad was right. The... the ball went through the window. I never heard a sound so loud. At first, I couldn't move. But then I saw my mom's face, peering through the glass. So I went inside. She was holding the ball in her hand. And she looked so sorry. I wanted to cry, but the tears were all choked up in my throat. She reached out to hug me - but then my d-dad walked in. He'd just come home, and he saw the hole in the window when he got out of the car." 

Adam's hands were shaking by now. He clenched them tightly by his sides, just as his dad had clenched his fists. "He grabbed the ball from my mom and started shouting. About how I was so clumsy and useless, a silly little baby, and how she had pampered me. How I needed to be taught a lesson. Then... Then he threw the ball at her head." Adam let out a gasp; a tiny, wretched sound. "She fell down and, I swear, I thought she was dead. Her face was so white, except for this tiny red mark, like a kiss. I sat down beside her and started to shake her, trying to wake her up. B-but my dad just picked up the phone. He... he called 911. And he said it was all my fault. E-even at the hospital, when the doctors and the police asked him what happened. He said that I had th-thrown the ball and knocked out my own mother. And they believed him.... I was six, and scared, and after a while I started to believe him too. For a long time, I forgot what really happened. Until I was all grown up, and went to a baseball game, and the sound of the ball being struck brought it all flooding back."

He opened his blue eyes and stared at the man before him. "I _hated_ him for that." All his anger and his fear went into that one word as he spat it into Bob's face. "For making me think that I was the one who hurt her."

**-x0x-**

Behind Adam, Don's world reeled. He wondered how much Mac knew about Adam's past. He also wondered what other memories the troubled man was hiding. Now, at last, he understood the expression that sometimes appeared on Danny's face when he looked at Adam.

Bob was less sympathetic. 

"That'll do, I suppose," he nodded, waving Adam forward to the workbench. The lab tech darted across and snatched the precious first aid kit. Scurrying back to Don, he began to rifle through its contents, even before he sat down. Painkillers. Saline solution. And bandages - _thank God_ , thought Don. Adam had not held back, in spite of the pain it cost him, and his story deserved a worthy reward.

"Please," Adam begged, trembling with relief. "Give us a little time. I need to help him."

Bob shrugged. "Take five minutes," he said, lifting a bottle of water to his lips. "Mmm," he laughed, when he had drained its contents. "That was good. Sure you're not thirsty?"

"Just ignore him," Don whispered, though his own throat was dry and uncomfortable by now.

"I know. I'm trying." Adam gave a wobbly smile and started to unwind the strip of cloth around Don's leg.

"And Adam? Thank you."

The lab tech flushed. "Just don't tell the others, okay?"

**-x0x-**

Pale eyes stared at Jo and Lindsay through the crack in the doorway.

"My husband isn't here," said Mary Finn.

"I know, honey. That's what we're here to talk about." Jo lifted her badge and flashed the woman a different kind of smile to the one she had used on Frederick. This one was Lindsay's favourite - a genuine expression of warmth and sympathy. It seemed to work on Mary, because she unlocked the chain and opened the front door fully.

"Thank you," said Lindsay, following Jo into the apartment. Mary stood to one side, scratching the top of her left hand with a nervous, habitual motion. Beneath her nails, the skin was already raw. Frederick was right. The woman was a mouse. And clearly terrified. A lump rose in Lindsay's throat.

"I don't know when he'll be back. I wasn't supposed to let anybody in." Mary stopped scratching and wrung her fingers together in distress. Trying to distract herself, she glanced towards the kitchen. "Ah.... do you want some tea?"

Lindsay was about to decline when Jo stepped forward. "That would be lovely," she said. "My poor throat's drier than a creek bed in a drought, as my daddy used to say. Let me help you make it." One meaningful look was all Lindsay needed. As soon as the other two women had gone, she began to look around.

The living room was large, and painfully clean. There were very few signs of comfort, apart from a couple of signed sporting pictures on the wall, and one other photograph of Bob Finn and his family. His arms hung round Mary and Isla as though he were claiming his property. All three faces were blank, and careful. Aside from the pictures, furniture was minimal and placed with cold precision. Lindsay thought with fondness of her own tiny apartment and its happy, lived-in look. There was no such joy here. No wonder Mary looked so pale and weary.

With no drawers or cupboards to check through, Lindsay was at a loss. She couldn't hunt through the other rooms without passing by the kitchen, so she waited, hoping that her colleague was having more luck.

**-x0x-**

In the kitchen, Jo swirled the milk carton thoughtfully. "I know about your daughter," she said.

Mary jumped, and boiling water splashed on the kitchen floor. It narrowly missed her leg and Jo was immediately contrite. "Oh, I'm so sorry," she cried, leaping to take the kettle away from Mary. "That was thoughtless of me. I should have waited until we were sitting down."

"No... no, it's my fault." Mary snatched a nearby mop and began to scrub through the puddle as though she were scrubbing at the ache inside her chest. Gently, Jo reached out and placed an arm on her hand to stop her.

"Later," she said. "We'll clean that up together. It's alright. Your husband won't be coming home for a long time - I can promise you that."

The mop hit the floor with a bang. "Wh-what do you mean?" Mary's pale eyes were wide and almost frantic.

Jo sighed. "He's got himself into - a bit of a situation."

"Because of Isla?"

"Yes, that's right." Jo steered her out of the kitchen, all thoughts of tea forgotten. "Look, come and sit down so we can tell you all that we know. And then, perhaps, you'll fill in the blanks for us."

"I'm not supposed to talk." Mary shook her head, but Jo could tell that she was wavering.

"I think you need to, this time. For your daughter's sake. She's missing, isn't she?"

The three of them sat down on the rigid sofa.

"Since last night," Mary admitted, "but we never realised. Not until the phone call this morning. I think... I think Robert recognised the voice. He went off in such a fury, and he told me not to open the door to anyone. That he would sort it out, and bring her back. I... I've been alone ever since." Her head drooped and suddenly her shoulders began to heave. "Oh, God. I don't know what to do."

Lindsay was the quickest. Pulling the woman's head to her shoulder, she held her tightly, rocking from side to side, as though she were soothing Lucy after a nightmare.

"That's why we're here," said Jo, but her reassuring words rang hollow in her own ears and she made no empty promises, though she wished with all her heart that she could give poor Mary - and herself - the hope of a happy ending. 


	11. Chapter 11

"Seventh time's the charm," Danny muttered as they pulled up outside the Lucky Dragon restaurant.

"What gives it away?" grinned Hawkes. Both men stared at the squad car parked in front of them.

"Oh, I don't know. Call it well-honed intuition."

"How about calling it what it is? A hunch." Sheldon was cheerfully pedantic, as always, and Danny punched him on the arm.

"You got no flair," he accused his colleague with a grin. "Come on. Let's go in and see what all the fuss is about. Maybe there's been a - what did Jo call it? A 'Chinese food explosion'..."

"I hardly think they'd call the cops for that."

"Exactly. So there must be more, right? Like a robbery. Or a murder..." Danny was aching for action, desperate to use up the nervous energy fizzing around inside his wiry body. Sheldon knew it, and laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Let me take this," he advised. "You're far too jumpy."

Danny wanted to argue back but really, he couldn't deny it. So he followed Hawkes into the restaurant, obedient for now. An officer was leaning on the counter in a rather overbearing manner, talking to a young waitress who seemed out of her depth and extremely agitated.

"Pardon me," Sheldon interrupted smoothly. "I'm from the Crime Lab. I wanted to ask her if she knows this man?" He held up a picture of John Street, lifted from the victim's apartment. The waitress shook her head but couldn't hide the stricken look that flashed across her face.

"You do," said Danny, darting forward. "Don't you?"

"I... I do," said the girl in careful English. "He came here every day for one week. But... I do not know his name."

"And what's _your_ name?" Sheldon asked kindly.

"I am Lin." The waitress trembled as she spoke and Sheldon saw that her cheeks were pale. With rapid, heaving breaths, she struggled to maintain her poise in front of so many strangers.

"What happened here?" Danny said. "Officer...?"

"Merrick. Suspicious death." The man was tall and he loomed over both Danny and Sheldon, his shoulders slightly curved as though to compensate for his height. "M.E. just left with the body. Ethan Tang, nephew of the owner. This girl was the one who found him. That's why _I'm_ questioning her." With not-so-subtle pressure, he tried to reinforce his claim on the case. Danny twitched - but Sheldon was watching him, and intervened.

"Would you mind if we listened in? This may have something to do with _our_ investigation." He didn't pass up the chance to add a little pressure of his own. Merrick frowned. Unfortunately, Hawkes' firm politeness left him with no other choice but to comply.

Lin threw Sheldon a desperate, pleading look before turning back to gaze up at the officer.

Smoothing the page of his notebook, Merrick cleared his throat with pompous self-importance. Now that he had the stage, he intended to make the most of his part. "Why did it take you so long to report the body?" he asked, a little too coldly for Sheldon's taste. "Tang's been dead for hours."

"I... I do not understand," said Lin, biting her lip as her eyes darted back to Sheldon. _Help me,_ they said. The CSI gave her an encouraging smile and tried to make things clearer.

"When did you find him?"

Lin gasped in relief. "The storeroom outside is for special ingredients. Very expensive. Only my father has a key. When I went out this morning, I saw that the door was open. This was... twelve o' clock, I think. First I saw a terrible mess all over, and then I saw _him_... Ethan... on the floor." Fluttering fingers rose to cover her mouth and her eyes grew wide. She shook her head mutely - _no more._

"Does that answer your question?" Sheldon asked Merrick quietly. The officer curled his lip. "Look," Hawkes continued. "This girl is in shock. She needs to sit down. Why not leave her with me - I'm a doctor - and you can take my colleague round the back to see the crime scene. By the time you get back, your witness should have recovered."

He knew that sending Danny with Merrick was probably less than wise, but the waitress seemed to have fixed upon him as her defending angel. The officer opened his mouth to protest but thought better of it when he saw the steely look in Sheldon's eyes.

"This way," he told Danny abruptly, slamming his way through the kitchen door. The detective followed at his heels, but not before he threw a wicked smirk in Sheldon's direction. Hawkes shook his head in despair and then turned to his patient, all business now that they were alone.

"How are you feeling?" he asked her, checking her outward symptoms - pale, clammy skin; rapid breathing. These had improved significantly since Merrick left the room, and Hawkes smiled. "Not so bad now, I'm guessing?"

"He is not a nice man," Lin said with feeling. She tilted her head and regarded Sheldon with curious eyes. "Are you a policeman too? And a doctor? You must be very clever."

"I'm a CSI." Sheldon side-stepped the compliment carefully. When the girl looked blank, he tried to explain. "We treat crimes like puzzles. Look at the little things and put the pieces together."

"I see," she said slowly. "You want to know... little things about Ethan?"

"And about where you found him." Sheldon nodded.

Lin thought carefully. White teeth pulled at her bottom lip. He tried not to smile at this childish habit. Finally, she looked up at him. "I have one thing," she said. "Ethan and the other man. From your picture. They spent much time together, late at night."

"You mean they were friends?"

"Not friends. And I do not know where Ethan met him. He did not come to eat here but to see my cousin. They met every time in the storeroom. He... Ethan stole my father's key and made a copy. And there was also another man - older, and well-dressed. A city man. I think they wanted to do something bad. But I did not tell my father." Tears filled her eyes. "I made a mistake. And now Ethan is dead."

Sheldon reached for her hand instinctively but pulled back at the last minute, trying not to let his compassion overrule his professionalism. "This isn't your fault," he told her. "We'll find out what happened. And when we do, I'll tell you, so you'll know. Now - where's your father? He should be here. I don't want to leave you alone..." _Not with Merrick._ It didn't feel right.

"We live upstairs. My father took my mother up to her bed. She was too shocked. Ethan is... was... a favourite. She has no son. Just me..." To Sheldon's horror, Lin began to hiccup loudly, harsh sobs ripping from her delicate throat in a manner that was quite alarming.

"Oh... hey, no, don't do that. It's okay." He wished that Danny would hurry up and return. The situation was getting out of hand, and suddenly Sheldon felt quite uncomfortable. "We'll get your dad back down here, okay? I won't let anyone else ask you questions till then."

"Y-you are so kind," Lin gasped between hiccups. "It was my good fortune that you came here today." She clutched for his fingers and Sheldon pulled back even further. It was the doctor's own good luck that brought Danny Messer back at that critical moment. Merrick swaggered in his wake.

 _Thank God._ "You find anything?" asked Hawkes, in a voice that was slightly too breezy.

Danny's quizzical look promised questions later but, to his credit, he didn't let Sheldon down. "A whole lotta spices. Looks like some kind of fight scene. We'll need to process it, but that much is obvious."

"You think Street killed Ethan?"

"Too soon to say. But there were no defensive wounds on our first victim's body. I think I'd like to take a look at this Ethan." Danny grinned softly as Merrick strode past him. There was a suspicious twinkle in his eye - and Sheldon soon realised why. When Merrick turned round for a moment, Hawkes saw a dusty white handprint - flour would be his guess - neatly planted between the officer's shoulder blades. It stood out in stark relief against his immaculate uniform.

Messer: 1. Merrick: 0.

**-x0x-**

Up on the rooftop, Adam worked quickly. Already, blood had seeped through the makeshift bandages. He tried not to let the worry show on his face as he pulled them off, but it was hard. Don's keen eyes were on him the whole time, studying every wince and bruise. "You doin' okay?" the detective asked, his words a little slurred.

A short laugh burst from Adam's lips. "That's crazy. Stop asking me that. I'm fine - but right now, you'd have been better off with Sheldon. Any advice?"

Don turned away as the wound was released. Adam didn't blame him. 'Seeing' always made it hurt more, in his experience. "Saline solution. Clean it up. Don't want infection."

"Of course... I knew that." _Get on with it, Adam. No one else is going to do this for you. The man shouldn't have to doctor his own leg._

He clenched his teeth. As Don lapsed into silence, Adam cleaned the skin around his wound with unexpectedly skilful fingers and growing concentration. If he treated it as a problem to be solved, then somehow everything became clear. The dreadful scene around him disappeared and he was absorbed. Ripping open the packet containing a sterile dressing, he pressed it down on the wound and held it firmly for a while, in spite of Don's groan. "Can you take over?" he said at last, lifting Don's hand gently in his own and laying it down on the pad. The detective grunted. Glancing at his face, Adam was shocked to see how white he had become. The effort of holding back the pain was beginning to take its toll. Adam moved faster. Unwinding the rolled-up bandage, he laid a section of it down against the pad and moved Don's fingers out of the way as he started to weave both ends around the man's thigh. It was awkward work, and every time he had to shift the leg, Don breathed a little more harshly.

"Hey, Detective... I mean, Don," said Adam softly. "D'you think Mac's got some kind of cunning plan up his sleeve? I bet he has, right, and soon he'll come bursting through that door..." The lab tech didn't really know what he was saying. He just knew that Don needed some kind of distraction. And nervous babbling - well, Adam was good at that. "He'll have Danny with him, and Jo will be waiting downstairs to give us both a hug and make us feel much better.... I love her smile, don't you? It brightens up my whole day when I see her..."

"Adam," sighed Don, "that's enough. I think you're done."

"Oh. Okay."

Sure enough, looking down, Adam found that his hands had managed to tie a perfect bandage around Don's leg without any help from his brain at all. _My fingers are clever,_ he thought giddily. Snapping a couple of painkillers out of their blister pack, he shared them with Don. Water would have been nice, but Adam knew better than to ask.

"Finished playing nurse?" Bob asked with mock-politeness. "No - don't get up. The detective can take this round sitting down."

He swaggered up and down in front of them. Don was unimpressed.

"We still on that?" he demanded hoarsely. "'Cos I'm not in the mood."

Bob shrugged and hunkered down until he was face to face with the man. "Sure you don't want to rethink? Your friend here looks terribly cold. I'd say he needs a nice warm blanket or two. And all it will cost you is a memory. A recent one, this time, I think. Your worst day, perhaps. Aside from this one, of course. I imagine, as a cop, you'll have plenty to choose from."

Adam stiffened. He knew exactly where Don's mind would have taken him. And he also knew from quiet observation that this was something Don could never share. He had seen - they had _all_ seen the pain that swelled inside the man like a festering wound, for days and weeks and months after Jess was killed. He had overcome it in the end - how, Adam could not imagine. But the lab tech knew that some memories never disappeared completely, no matter how hard you tried to push them away.

"Go to hell," snapped Don.

"Not yet," said Bob as he straightened up again. "Consequences first."

**-x0x-**

Grateful for the barriers that held back the crowds and the gathering media, Mac and Baxter slipped across the street. Entering the building opposite, which was another solid, old-style apartment block, they jumped into the elevator and headed up to the top floor. To Mac's amusement, Baxter was going out of his way to be helpful now, offering the detective a chance to accompany him as he visited his scattered team. _Trying to prove he's a good leader after all._

As they stepped out into the corridor, Mac's phone rang. _Jo,_ he guessed, with yet another update _._ He also knew what her real motive would be. _Checking up on me_. Somehow, he rather liked it; the knowledge that someone cared about how he was feeling - cared enough to ask, just like Stella used to do. Jo was a colleague too, and a fairly new one at that, but she hadn't been there long before he also began to consider her a friend. _Impossible not to,_ he realised, and he suspected the other team members felt the same.

Which was why she was probably freaking out right now, deep down inside. Adam and Don were two of her favourite people, after all. Checking up on Mac was also a way to handle her own growing frustration.

"Forty minutes left," said Mac. "What can you tell me?"

"You're not going to like it," Jo's voice breathed in his ear.

"Tell me anyway."

"We found another body."

Mac went cold. "Not the daughter?"

"Oh, Lord... no! I'm so sorry, Mac, that was thoughtless of me. No, this seems to be a friend of our first victim. Sid has him now, and Danny and Sheldon are still at the scene. It's a storeroom in a Chinese restaurant downtown. My guess is, these two men took the girl and held her there for a while. Something unexpected went down and they were forced to move her. Danny already found long dark hair, pulled out by the roots, as though there was some kind of violent struggle. That's where the spices came from too. His name is Ethan Tang."

"John Street and Ethan Tang." Mac tested their names out loud. "Any thoughts on why they did this? What kind of grudge they might have against our friend 'Bob'?"

"I don't know - seems like meeting him is enough," sighed Jo, with a weary attempt at humour. "I did speak to Finn's wife, Mary. When I asked her about his job, she described him as a 'finance specialist'."

"Fancy term for a loan shark," Mac growled. "So - these men owed him money?"

"Well, Street's computer showed that he visited online casinos with frightening regularity. And his bank records show that he wasn't a lucky gambler. As for Tang, we're still looking into it. But Mac..." She paused. "The waitress at the restaurant said that Street and Tang had meetings late at night with another man. A 'city man', Sheldon said she called him. Older, and well-dressed. She thought they might be plotting something."

"I'm not sure if that's good news or bad news," Mac commented wryly. "On the one hand, we have yet another suspect to identify before the deadline is up. On the other hand..."

"If one of the kidnappers is still alive then we have a much better chance of finding the girl." Jo finished the summary for him. "I know. Split priorities. Too many lives on the line. How's it going at your end?"

"Better," Mac said simply, aware that Baxter was still close at hand.

"I heard about your trick with the news chopper." Listening, Mac could picture the smile that went with her words. "Nicely done. Did you get any useful footage?"

"I saw Adam." He kept it brief, but tried to reassure her. "He's bruised - a broken nose, maybe - but otherwise okay. I'd say he's holding his own."

"Of course he is." Jo's voice was firm. "They're going to get out of this, Mac."

"Are you saying that for my benefit or yours?" the detective joked.

"Both, of course," was her honest reply. "Mac, Sid's just appeared. I'll call you when I have more."

And the phone went dead.

**-x0x-**

"You know I could have come to you," Jo told Sid fondly.

"Of course. I knew that. But time is of the essence, so I thought that I would hotfoot it over to you instead. I'm pretty sure you'll want to hear this." The M.E. tapped his folder eagerly. Jo gestured to the opposite chair and waited for him to sit down.

"Please, Sid. Go on."

"Knowing that the bodies of our two victims were part of the same case, I took the liberty of making a few comparative studies, based on my preliminary findings. And what I discovered was odd, to say the least. Manner of death - completely different. As I told you before, John Street was most likely killed on an impulse, sudden and unexpected. Clean shot, close range, no struggle. Ethan Tang, on the other hand, died of a broken neck. Spinal column completely transected - quite skilfully, I might add. He had minor abrasions all over him and had clearly been in one fight, if not two. Time of death - and here's the kicker - John Street was killed first. By at least an hour, I would say."

"Are you sure?" Jo leaned forward, her interest piqued.

"I'm positive." He smiled at her, delighted by her reaction. "Does that help?"

"I don't know if 'help' is exactly the word. It certainly raises a couple of intriguing questions. If Bob killed Street and fled to the rooftop, how could he then kill Ethan Tang? And if Street was already dead, that means he couldn't have killed Tang either. So..."

"So, who killed Ethan?" Sid looked down at his notes. "I also discovered one point of similarity - aside from the spice that covered their clothes, that is. Both men had somebody else's skin beneath their fingernails. DNA was a match - female, I'm afraid."

"The daughter," Jo guessed. "They were trying to restrain her. From her picture, I'd say she was the type to struggle. But why no defensive wounds on John Street?"

"Perhaps he backed off. Left the fight to a more capable man. The clothes he was wearing, and the slackness of his muscles, suggest a personality far more suited to cerebral pursuits than an afternoon down at the gym."

"Yes - pursuits like wasting all of his money online. So, Ethan Tang subdued the girl and John Street left them together. The question is, what happened after that? Who killed Tang and took the girl?"

"That, my dear, is why you are an investigator and I am just a humble examiner." Sid smiled graciously as he rose from his seat.

**-x0x-**

Cold air crept around the door as Baxter pushed it open. Behind the bull-necked man, Mac Taylor shivered. What had started out as a bright and sunny day was now a bitter afternoon. He pulled his jacket closer and took a deep breath as Baxter sidled through the doorway. Taylor followed in his footsteps carefully. They kept to the shadows, hopping from screen to screen across the roof. Some community-minded tenant had tried to create a haven of peace up here, with wicker shades and waterproof loungers, all in sickly shades of olive, tangerine and puce. Mac pulled a face. Fashionable, they were not, but they did provide an excellent way to reach the edge of the roof without being seen.

Far more out of place was the dark-clad man, crouching down behind the parapet. He had been there for hours already but still his shoulders were tense and his eyes never left the building opposite. _Ex-military,_ Mac guessed.

"Sir?" hissed the man, between tight lips. "Is it a go?"

"Not yet," said Baxter hurriedly. Compared to this man, his own laid-back manner seemed even more pronounced. He cleared his throat. "This here's Mac Taylor, detective in charge of the operation. That's his man over there with Detective Flack."

"The one that started all this?" said the sniper. Curiosity, to be sure, but loaded with confrontational overtones. Mac stiffened.

"Actually, I think you'll find that the _killer_ started this. My man was only tracking him down."

"Without a gun," the other man sneered, as though this was the worst offence that Adam could have committed.

"Without a gun," Mac nodded. "Not everybody needs one. My people use their brains to fight crime, and bullets only when absolutely necessary."

"Good job you have us to back you up," said the sniper smugly.

 _That's not exactly what I was thinking._ Mac frowned at Baxter, who was looking a little guilty. _Seems their boss has been spreading his bile across the whole team. Terrific._

All this time, the sniper had kept his eyes on the workshop opposite. Now he held up his hand for silence. "Look," he mouthed. "Someone's coming out..."

**-x0x-**

Adam stepped out of the gloom and into the daylight. It felt strange to be all alone. In the back of his mind, he carried the awful picture of Don, lying helpless with Bob's... no, _his_ knife hovering at the man's throat. Now he knew exactly how the detective had felt that morning. "Obedience training," he muttered. "Guess that makes me whipped."

But what else could he do?

Time after time, the killer forced control by using their own nature against them. A good man would always be easy to dominate. A man like Bob had no conscience.

Cradled in Adam's arm was a blanket, filled with the precious contents of Mac's crate. This was the consequence of Don's refusal to talk - to share a moment that would have completely unmanned him. Strangely enough, Adam didn't care. No way did he want to put his companion through that. For what? For a blanket? Or a sip of water? The agony just wasn't worth it. _Maybe I should have been that strong,_ Adam mused - but yet again, there were no regrets. His words had been his own choice, a sacrifice to give Don the help that he needed. One memory out of many. What did it matter? Adam stumbled forwards.

 _Throw it over,_ Bob had instructed him calmly. _Or I slit his throat from end to end, and then you and I will be all alone. I doubt you want that, Adam Ross._

Removing one bottle of water and one power bar for himself, Bob swept the rest of the precious supplies across the blanket and tied it up like a bulging sack. Adam lifted it awkwardly and staggered out of the door. One step, then another... Freedom to his left. Open space before him. Watching a couple of pigeons swoop past, Adam thought yet again how wonderful it would be if he could simply leap into the air and fly away from all this. Leave the anger and the pain behind, and soar through the clouds like a wild bird, happy and free. The image was so powerful that he almost dropped the bundle then and there, ready to spread his arms and take off... But no. The truth dragged him down, and his shoulders bowed beneath the weight. Escape was impossible. Nothing could free them now, except for Mac.

Then, suddenly, there he was.

"I really am losing it," Adam gasped, freezing to the spot and dropping the bundle for real this time.

He stared out across the empty air above the city street.

And Mac stared back.

Quiet, and more real than any hallucination had a right to be. Even the incredulous scowl was right - Adam could just make it out. "Mac?" he whispered.

Mechanically, he picked up the bundle once more and wandered to the very edge of the rooftop. Shaking fingers began to pick at the knots. All this time, Adam stared at the vision, willing it to be real.

Mac waved his hand, and the lab tech jumped.

His boss was really there.

**-x0x-**

"Get down," hissed the sniper, but Mac was unafraid. No one else could see him but Adam - and Adam was the only one who needed him right now. Part of him wanted to laugh out loud at the look of total shock on the poor man's face.

But then he saw what Adam was doing.

Released from their bonds, the contents of the blanket tumbled over the edge of the building. Bouncing off gantries and ironwork, they sought the quickest path to the street below. Mac heard startled squeals as people dodged out of the way. Yet Adam's eyes were only for him. The lab tech did not even dare to blink, in case the miracle disappeared.

"I wish that I could do something more for you," Mac muttered. _But at least I can give you strength._ He willed it across the space between them desperately - and, to his delight, Adam began to smile.

_You're not alone._

_I know it. Thank you, Mac._

Adam nodded slowly, and turned back to his fate.


	12. Chapter 12

Time was almost up. 

Back in the command centre by now, Mac gripped the radio with bone-white, rigid fingers. Driven by Bob's callous deadline, his team had followed the facts, but they only had half a story. And he was so afraid that it wouldn't be enough.

Sanchez paced up and down, her eyes on the clock. "You better do it now," she said at last. "I don't think you can hold out any longer."

"Just one more hour," Mac muttered grimly. "Dammit, that's all we need."

"Then tell him that," the officer suggested. She stopped her pacing and stared at him. "Aren't you doing this to save his daughter? Time to do some bargaining of your own, perhaps. Sir," she added, hastily.

**-x0x-**

After his game was cut short, Bob sank into a kind of lethargy. Legs splayed out, he leaned against the wall with his gun across his lap and a dog-eared photo in his hand. Adam watched him warily. He didn't trust the man at all, but this was new behaviour.

Beside him, Don was half-asleep. Adam felt his forehead and was startled by a flash of heat that stung his palm and made him pull away. Since the changing of his bandage, the man had been sinking fast. This frightened Adam more than he cared to admit. Maybe disturbing the wound had made it worse after all. His misguided efforts to help the detective had only made him sicker... _That's nonsense,_ said the rational side of his brain. But this was not a rational situation and doubts were creeping up on him now like a swarm of flies around a rotting corpse.

 _Ugh. Bad metaphor._ Adam pushed the image out of his mind, repulsed. _I have to do something._

Patting Don's arm gently, more to reassure himself than anything else, Adam clambered to his feet. Bob barely noticed. The lab tech shuffled across the workshop, edging nearer and nearer to his foe. By now, the rational side of his brain was frantic, screaming at him to sit down and keep quiet - yet Adam chose to trust his instinct. It was the only thing that he could trust beside Mac Taylor. His boss was going to call at any moment. And Adam was going to help him.

 _At least, that's the plan._ Adam caught his breath as he paused in front of the crazy, sadistic killer. _Here we go, then..._

 _Say_ _something!_

Bob looked up and his fingers inched towards the gun. There was a dead look in his eyes that Adam really didn't like.

"H-hey," croaked the lab tech. He didn't mean for his voice to sound like that, but his throat was dry, and tight with nerves. "What're you looking at? Is that a picture of your daughter?"

"Trying to bond with me, are you, Adam Ross?" Bob said with a curl of his lip. But he held out the photo all the same.

Adam took it. "She's pretty," he offered. "How old is she?"

The man shook his head. "Oh no. You're not going to try that psychology crap on me. Buddy up to the bad guy, all cosy-cosy, and then betray him - is that your plan? Because I really can't see you pulling it off." He snatched the picture away from Adam's fingertips and shoved it in his pocket.

"I don't have a plan," Adam lied. "I don't have anything." _Just Mac Taylor..._

"That's right," Bob told him. "But I'll tell you what. I'm feeling in need of a little distraction. Go on, Science Boy. Give it your best shot. I'll mark you out of ten."

It was a strange kind of opening but Adam took it. Clearing his throat, he stared Bob full in the face, his blue eyes earnest.

"It's just that... well, I was thinking, okay? You really need to let the detective go."

Bob burst out laughing. He really couldn't help himself. Behind Adam, Don gave a grumpy yawn and then settled back into his stupor. The lab tech pushed on. "I don't mean to sound crazy. But really, why are you doing this? You want Mac's help, right? Well, Detective Flack is really sick, and if he dies then so does your chance for _any_ kind of help, I can promise you that. But if Mac tells you what he's found out and then you let Flack go, that's a sign of good faith, isn't it?"

Bob's smile was marred by bitter disbelief. "And what about you?"

"I... I stay here, of course. With you. Till they find your daughter." Adam held the other man's gaze, trying to find some humanity in those cold, intelligent eyes. The idea of being alone with Bob once more was truly chilling, but Adam veered away from that and focussed on what was important right now. That was Don, without question. Not to mention the fact that losing him would drive Mac crazy, leading to an endgame that Adam really didn't want to be part of. There had to be a way out of this. A key to persuading Bob. And surely it had to be his daughter?

"What's her name?" Adam tried again.

"Her name is Isla. She's fifteen years old and she's a wretched nuisance. But she's mine," Bob snapped, "and they had no right to take her." The unexpected sentiment burst from his lips, shocking even him. Adam fell back, startled.

"M-Mac'll find her," he promised - and, right on cue, the radio crackled into life. Bob picked it up from the floor and climbed to his feet, pushing Adam over towards Don.

"You're late," he growled. Holding one hand up in front of the lab tech, he waggled three fingers.

 _Points for effort, I guess,_ Adam thought sadly as he sank down beside his companion.

"Not really," said Mac. "Are you ready to talk terms?"

"That should be my line." Bob turned his back on the hostages.

Adam shook Don, trying to rouse him. The detective murmured something incoherent, rolling his arm across Adam's leg helplessly. "It's okay." Adam took Don's hand in both of his own. "It's okay..." he repeated, though he didn't really know if he believed it anymore.

**-x0x-**

Mac focussed on Sanchez' eager face. It was better than picturing Bob.

"I know who took your daughter." _Begin with a half truth,_ he thought. _Pull him in._ "There were three men."

"Three?" Bob hissed, full of fury. Mac continued.

"The first one was John Street. You know that already." Playing a careful game, he tried to spin his story out and unsettle the man with how much he already knew. "Let me tell you what I think happened there. According to your wife, you received a call this morning. The man on the other end told you he had your daughter. But Mary said you recognised the voice. The man was John Street, a client of yours. One you'd been 'pressuring' for a repayment." Mac paused. "How am I doing so far?"

"Long-winded and pompous," Bob grumbled, but Mac could tell he was listening all the same.

"You raced to Street's apartment and confronted him. Things got out of hand. Full of anger, you shot him - and that's when your problems really began. With the kidnapper dead, how would you find your daughter? So you started to search his apartment for a clue to who might have been in on this with Street. Until the cops came along and you needed to make your escape." Mac paused. "Only you didn't. You left your phone downstairs and planted a trail of blood to the roof. It seemed too foolish to be a mistake. So it must have been deliberate. You wanted someone to follow you. You wanted this to happen. It was a crazy plan, born in the heat of the moment and barely reasoned through - but here we are."

"Yes - here we are." Bob's voice was silky smooth by now. "So, you read my mind. So what? I still have your men. And you aren't telling me anything I didn't know already."

"The second man," said Mac, interrupting Bob like a teacher overriding an insolent pupil, "was Ethan Tang. Also a client."

Bob went quiet.

"The two of them took your daughter and hid her in a storeroom at the restaurant where Tang worked. But Isla fought back. They subdued her, and then Street left, presumably to make the call and set the ransom demand in progress. Unfortunately, after that, Tang himself was killed."

"And Isla...?" There was a queer note in Bob's voice - not concern, exactly, but something closer to warmth than Mac had ever heard from him before.

"Disappeared. We suspect the third man has her."

"And who is he?"

Unable to stall any longer, Mac had to admit their failure. "I'm afraid that's as far as my team has got. We need more time."

"And you don't have it," Bob growled. "The deal was three hours - remember?"

"The deal is irrelevant," Mac shot back. "We need to make a new arrangement. If you want me to find your daughter alive, that is..." he added quietly.

Silence. Mac held his breath, still staring at Sanchez. Bargaining with a girl's life like this went completely against his nature. He really hoped that Bob wouldn't call his bluff. Because, in all honesty, Mac knew that he would try and find her anyway. What else could he do? Sanchez nodded, full of encouragement.

"I'm listening," Bob said at last.

"Give me until sundown. And I want the detective. He must need a hospital badly by now. He's no use to you dead - you know that." Even as he said the words, Mac felt the hidden fear clutch at his heart. He closed his eyes and fought for control. It would never do to show Bob just how much the two hostages meant to him.

"And _your_ man? You'd leave him alone with me?"

Mac knew that Adam could probably hear them. He imagined the lab tech following every twist and turn of the conversation with breathless anxiety. Blue eyes stared at him in his imagination. The man was counting on him, he was sure - but Don's need was greater and Mac just had to trust that Adam knew it.

"Yes, I would. Do we have a deal?"

Silence again. And then the words that Mac never truly believed he would hear from Bob's lips.

"We do. Until sundown. Make your arrangements. Call me in half an hour when you're ready and I'll release him. Goodbye then, Mac Taylor. And may I say - well played."

The connection broke and the radio dropped to Mac's side. His head was spinning and his arms felt like lead.

"Holy Mother of God," breathed Sanchez. "I can't believe you just did that. You've saved Detective Flack."

A hollow victory. "Yes, but what about Adam?"

"Adam will understand. I don't know him - but I know you. And so does he."

Mac could only pray that she was right.

**-x0x-**

A battle was raging in Adam's imagination. Bob's voice squared off against Mac's voice as the lab tech struggled to cope with what had just happened.

_"You've left him to die," crowed 'Bob'._

_"He knows I didn't have a choice."_

_"Oh, but you did. You could have left the detective and opted to free the geek."_

_"Detective Flack is injured. He doesn't have any more time."_

_"You could have tried harder to find my daughter. Then I'd have freed them both."_

_"I don't believe that for a second. And we're working as fast as we can."_

_I don't believe that for a second..._

_You've left him to die..._

Adam's fear stole his breath away completely. He clutched at Don's hand in a desperate attempt to ground himself once more. The detective grumbled softly. Longing to reassure him, Adam tried to suck in some air from his dusty surroundings, counting every shuddering success until his lungs were filled. Now he could speak again - but what was there to say?

_You've left him to die..._

He shook his head. Mac would never do that. He had to have faith in the man. Adam conjured up a new picture in his mind - a dark-suited figure standing quietly on a rooftop. It gave him strength.

Besides, wasn't this what he had asked for?

He turned to Don. "Did you hear? They're coming to get you."

"I heard," Don mumbled. There was something in his tone - another meaning that Adam couldn't quite identify.

Smiling shyly, he tried again. Perhaps Don hadn't understood? "Mac came through."

The detective shook his head. "No. 'M not going. Not without you."

"Don't be ridiculous. You haven't got a choice. You can barely move. I... I'm not hurt."

"L-liar, Adam Ross." Flack was grinning now - feebly, it was true, but that didn't matter. Adam's heart leapt at the sight.

"You'll be okay," he said. "And so will I. And... I'll see you in the hospital when I get down. I promise."

 _Liar..._ echoed a voice inside his head. Adam ignored it.

**-x0x-**

Half an hour passed, so quickly that Adam barely even noticed it. Mac's arrangements were simple and Bob found no fault with them. Before the lab tech knew it, he had been pushed outside the workshop. "Move the pot," said Bob. "And then straight back here. You're my insurance policy, and I want to keep you close."

Adam shivered - but Bob was still watching so he tried to pretend it was only the cold that disturbed him. Scurrying across the rooftop, he reached the doorway where this whole nightmare had begun, and glared at it crossly. "Wish I'd never bothered coming through you," he told it. Then he sighed. _Great. Now I'm talking to a door._

The pot was much heavier than he had anticipated. Flack had probably moved it with ease, but Adam could hardly shift it. "Oh, that's not good. Send a weakling to do a hero's job," he chattered to himself, trying to keep his thoughts light. He bent down and began to roll the pot round and round on its base. Gradually - _very_ gradually, it spiralled out of the way. As soon as it had cleared the door, Adam fell back, gasping. His arms and his back were aching and the pain across the top of his face was indescribable. He sat on the ground for a moment, feeling stunned - but there was no time for self-pity. Flack was almost free. He couldn't screw things up now, by giving in.

Resisting the urge to crawl across the roof on his hands and knees, Adam rose up on wobbly legs and staggered back to Bob's eager clutches. As soon as he passed the threshold, his enemy grabbed him. Retreating to the farthest corner, Bob sat down against the wall and pulled Adam almost into his lap. The lab tech shuddered in absolute revulsion. He was so close that he could feel the other man's heart, pounding hard against his back. _I didn't know he had one..._ The random thought made him giggle nervously. Bob tightened his grip on Adam's bare arm and something sharp rested against the swollen mark on his neck. "Don't move," hissed the killer. "I'm warning you."

Adam kept quiet. He didn't trust his voice to stay firm and he was sick of showing Bob how scared he was.

A loud noise startled them both, as the access door flew open. For one shining moment, Adam had a vision of Mac, dressed as a paramedic, bursting into the workshop to rescue them both and slay the hideous monster, Bob...

But of course, the two men who entered were perfect strangers...

 _You watch too much television,_ Adam sighed to himself as the paramedics crouched down next to Detective Flack. At first, their eyes were drawn to the man and his hostage in the corner, but they tried not to stare, afraid of making things worse. Trapped like a fly in a spider's web, Adam could almost believe that he was invisible. The paramedics never looked at him again. And Don was on his back by now, strapped to a stretcher and covered with silver foil, like a shiny treat. _A gift for Mac,_ thought Adam, resisting the urge to giggle again. Bob's hot breath tickled his neck. _And what have I got? The devil at my shoulder._

Five minutes more and Don was gone.

Bob squeezed his fingernails into Adam's skin. "Now we wait," he whispered. "How shall we pass the time...?"


	13. Chapter 13

They laid him down and carried him out of hell.

For a while, Don was content to float, as the sky and the ceiling above blurred into one grey mass. But a stubborn word was fighting to break through the fog in his mind - and when he saw Mac's face at last, leaning over him, he remembered what it was.

"Don? LIsten, I know you must be hurting. But please, is there anything you can tell me?"

"Adam," Don gasped.

"Yes, I know." Mac's eyes bored into him. "Adam's still up there. That's why I need your help."

"No... he really hates Adam." The words were like treacle and they tried to stick in his throat, but Don was determined. "Dammit, Mac... shouldn't have left him there. The man's insane. Have t' get him out."

He could tell by Mac's troubled expression that this was exactly what he had been afraid of. "How well is Bob armed?"

"Two guns... One knife. Oh, God... he cut a mark on his neck. A cross... Like Adam belongs to him, Mac. Don't think he'll let him go." Don's eyes closed. It was a struggle to force them open again. Beside him, the paramedics made irritated noises. But Mac kept going.

"What happened to the supplies?"

"My fault. Wouldn't play."

"Wouldn't _play_?"

"He likes games..." Don's heavy eyelids settled for good this time. Mac rested a hand on his shoulder.

"I can't leave," he told the detective quietly. "But Officer Sanchez is coming with you. She'll act as a link between us. So you'll know when we get him out." His fingers squeezed so tightly that Don gasped. "And we will get him out. That's a promise."

**-x0x-**

Jo ran a weary hand through her hair and gazed around the table. Two pairs of eyes refused to look up. Only Danny stared back, his jaw tight with grim determination. Seeing that face, Jo was almost tempted to turn away herself. Emotions were raw in the wake of Mac's latest update - elation mixed with fear - and connection seemed to make things worse. Yet Jo knew that somehow she had to bring them back together. _Cruel to be kind..._

"That's enough," she barked. "There's no time for self-indulgence. Don might be safe but Adam's counting on us."

Lindsay's eyes lifted in shock, as though she couldn't even remember when she had drifted into a trance. Across the table, Hawkes looked troubled too.

"You're right," he said. "So what have we got?"

"A loan shark named Finn." Danny shook his head. "I still can't get over that. What an ass. And some pretty pissed off clients who wanted revenge."

"Revenge?" Lindsay queried. "Or money?"

"Does it matter?" Her husband glared at the room in general. "They hate him, okay? And I can't say I blame 'em."

"But that doesn't help us," sighed Jo. "We need to find the third man." _Sounds like a movie._ She winced. "How many 'clients' does Robert Finn have?"

"Too many," Lindsay said with feeling. "Mary showed us his records - all paper, unfortunately. The man's a spider, with a web stretched right across this city. Our kidnapper could be anyone."

"Then we need to make a connection with the first two victims." Jo tried to sound optimistic. "What else do we have?"

"Too much," muttered Lindsay. Danny squeezed her hand.

"I got prints," he offered. "Fresh from the scene at the restaurant. I was just about to run 'em when..."

"When Mac let us know the good news. I understand. Well, that's your priority now. Lindsay, I know it's not fun but please keep digging through Finn's paperwork. And Sheldon, you and I will go through everything else we have. Yes, _all_ of it," Jo insisted, letting them see the gleam in her eye. "Old and new. We've been given a gift - more precious time to save Adam - and we shouldn't waste it."

"Then what're we doing sitting here?" said Danny, rising to his feet.

 _Always the first to act._ She envied the man his conviction.

They left the briefing room in a flurry of scraping chairs and urgent chatter. Jo watched them go, relieved. Pep talk over. _I guess that was the easy part,_ she sighed, as she followed them out of the door.

**-x0x-**

"No more games." Adam's voice was soft but there was strength behind it. Bob released his fingernails. The marks he had made were so deep, they throbbed as though he were still holding on. Adam resisted the urge to rub at his arm.

"Then what do you suggest?"

The lab tech shifted. "First let me up. You're armed - I'm not going to run."

"Think you're in charge now, do you?" Bob's tone was quiet too, but dangerous. "Think you've won?"

"No. Not at all." _But you let him go._ Adam kept his face carefully blank.

"I still have you." Bob slid the point of the knife from Adam's neck right along his shoulder and down his arm. With one deft flick, he cut through a strand of the leather thong wrapped over and over around the man's wrist. The bracelet, nicked by accident, snapped as well, sending white beads rolling all over the place. Adam jumped.

"Take it off," said his tormentor.

"No," said the lab tech. Bob slapped the side of his face, where the bruising was at its worst. Adam cried out in shock.

"Take it off _now_ ," Bob repeated. Biting his lip to hold back the hated tears, Adam slowly unwound the thong and held it out.

Before he knew what was happening, Bob had shoved him forwards, face down on the floor. He leapt onto Adam's back and, dropping the knife for a moment, he yanked the man's arms behind him, lashing them together with little regard for how tightly he wound the leather around the lab tech's wrists. Adam struggled furiously, but Bob's wiry strength was still his master. Anger built up inside him at the ease with which he had been subdued, yet again.

Suddenly, the weight disappeared from his back as Bob withdrew. "Now you can get up," he said, reclaiming his knife. "And you're right. You're not going anywhere." Adam struggled to his feet. Raising his battered face, he stared at his captor, who had pulled Flack's gun out of his waistband by now. Bob studied the weapon nonchalantly. "Nice piece. Typical cop gun, though." He folded up the penknife and stuck it in his pocket. The same hand came back out with a packet of cigarettes. "So, where were we, Adam? Oh, yes. What shall we do to pass the time?"

Adam backed away, his mind in a whirl as he tried to come up with some kind of brilliant and daring plan that could help him gain the upper hand. Unfortunately, inspiration was far too slow in coming. _I need a distraction._ Leaning against the far wall for support, he slid down to the floor and crossed his legs. "We could talk," he suggested, eyes lowered. _No eye contact. Don't let him see how bad you feel._ "I gave you a memory. Why don't you give me one in return? Any one you like?"

He expected sarcasm, or even a flat denial. But Bob seemed intrigued by this new twist to one of his games.

"A memory of mine? Are you sure, Adam Ross?"

 _No, I'm not,_ Adam realised, wondering why he had thought that a glimpse into this man's mind could ever be good. But already, it was too late.

"Very well. Most exciting, I think. From my childhood. The first time I killed a man..."

Adam closed his eyes in despair as the words crept into his head and the nightmare deepened.

**-x0x-**

Real or imagined, Bob's memory was foul and it sickened him. Adam slumped against the wall when the story was over, and tried to keep from retching. Across the room, Finn had lapsed into smoke-induced silence, drawing on cigarette after cigarette with wicked satisfaction. Dark eyes peered through the twisting wreaths, watching the lab tech smugly.

Adam turned away.

 _I hate you,_ he thought with a coldness that he hadn't felt in years. And that was another mark against the man sitting opposite.

"No more talk?" said Bob.

"No more talk," whispered Adam.

**-x0x-**

"I got it!" Danny crowed, leaping to his feet. He spun out of the door and raced along the corridor, scattering lab techs like white-coated bowling pins. Jo saw him coming and her bright eyes filled with hope.

"Oh, tell me it's something good," she begged.

"I truly hope so." He clutched at her arm and dragged her from the lab where she was studying Tang's shirt with driven intensity.

"Danny, wait! I have to..."

"No," he grinned. "Come on. You gotta see this."

'This' turned out to be a simple print match, blinking on his screen. Jo waited expectantly, knowing there had to be more.

Danny folded his arms, enjoying his moment. "This print was taken from inside the Lucky Dragon's _private_ storeroom. It belongs to a man named Jonah McHardy. Jonah doesn't work at the restaurant. In fact, he isn't in the catering business at all."

"What business is he in?" Jo couldn't help smiling. Danny's glee was infectious.

"He used to be a boxer. Got arrested too, several times, for brawling in the street. That's how he ended up in the system. These days, he's legit. Works as a bodyguard for high end, muckety-muck clients."

"Like 'city men'," Jo guessed.

"Exactly." Danny nodded. He pulled up a list on the next computer. "This is a compilation of all the names that Lindsay gathered from Finn's records. The ones who owed him the most, or had the most to gain by hurting him. And here," he continued, as he highlighted one name with a flourish; "here is our connection."

They stared at the screen together.

"Well then," Jo said thoughtfully. Danny caught the silent 'thank you' in her smile. "I think it's time to pay this Mr. Henry Bonner Jr. a social call - don't you?"

**-x0x-**

"I'm sorry," said the secretary brightly. "Mr. Bonner is currently in a meeting and not to be disturbed."

"You're kiddin' me, right?" Danny protested.

Jo stepped forward. "Honey, I really don't want to bore you with the number of times we've heard that particular excuse. What I _want_ to do is talk to Henry Bonner. Now, if you please."

Quailing before her two angry visitors, the secretary buzzed them in without another word of protestation. Passing through the doorway, they stopped and stared at Henry Bonner's inner sanctum. It was a shrine to greed and heartless opulence; a robber's cave, filled with velvet and leather and shiny, shiny things. Just standing within it made Danny feel oddly guilty.

The CSIs were not the only ones who seemed out of place. Behind a heavy, regal looking desk sat a middle-aged man with a chubby face and a halo of greying hair. Switching on the false smile of a third-rate charlatan, he stood up to greet them.

"Come in, come in," he cried. Danny studied him shrewdly. His eyes were bright but it wasn't a healthy glow. Fear was making him feverish as it leaked from every pore.

 _You're the one,_ he thought. But knowing and proving were two different things and they didn't have any time left for subtle advances.

Bonner hurried around the desk and led them to a cosy nook beside an imitation fire. They settled down together on seats that were so plush, Danny sank backwards in surprise. Jo's attitude was more dignified as she perched on the edge and folded her hands together. She looked like an elegant lady but there was ice in her voice when she spoke. Danny hauled himself up again, ready to join in the fight.

"Mr. Bonner," Jo began. "My name is Jo Danville, and this is Detective Messer. We're from the New York Crime Lab."

"Indeed?" Bonner's outward demeanour was placid but the false firelight picked out a throbbing vein in his temple. Danny watched it with deep satisfaction.

"Indeed." Jo echoed him deliberately. "Are you acquainted with a man named Robert Finn?"

 _Twitch._ "It's possible. I meet a lot of people in my line of business. I could have Felicia check my contact records..."

"Don't bother," Danny grinned. "I doubt she'd find him. Unless you've got any listings there for, say, 'Loan Sharks'."

 _Twitch._ "I... just what are you implying?" Bonner feigned indignation quite effectively under the circumstances.

"No implication," Jo said with a tiger's smile. "We have proof. Finn's own records, full of receipts - signed by _you_ , as a matter of fact. You owed him a lot of money, Mr. Bonner. Thirty thousand dollars, to be exact. Care to comment?"

 _Twitch._ "I... er, no."

"Not good enough," Danny told him archly. "See, our friend's life is on the line thanks to your little plot. And your two friends are dead already. That leaves you to take the fall..."

Bonner's eyes travelled nervously to the door, as though he were planning to bolt any second. "There is no plot. Okay - so I do owe Finn money. So do a lot of people, I expect. What makes you think that I've got anything to do with... whatever it is that you're accusing me of?"

"That would be kidnapping," Jo cut in. Bonner's wide cheeks flushed pink and the vein went into overdrive. "Bob Finn's daughter? Your little ransom plan with John Street and Ethan Tang?"

"I don't know those men," Bonner gasped hoarsely.

Danny leaned in. "You're a terrible liar," he said as he gave the man his most ferocious glare. This time, it was Jo who leaned back and let her colleague continue. "Your body language is all wrong. So you might as well come clean. We've got your bodyguard's prints at a crime scene. We've got your dodgy financial dealings. My guess is you 'borrowed' too much from the family business and Finn loaned you money to cover the hole before Daddy found out. Am I right? I'm right," he crowed, watching the vein for confirmation. "We also have a witness who saw a 'city man' visiting Tang at his uncle's restaurant every night. So I'm thinking - pop you in a line-up and see what she says. That sound good to you?"

"Okay! Okay..."

To Danny's infinite disgust, the businessman burst into tears. Jo smirked and swooped in to finish him off.

"Then you admit it," she pressed.

"It was never meant to be like this. I didn't want... We were just dreaming. Of ways to get back at Finn. He... he threatened us."

Slipping a trembling hand into his pocket, he pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. Danny's eyes widened in recognition as he unfolded it.

A cross. Marked in blood.

"I've seen that before," Jo said. "John Street had one too."

"Finn gives them out to anyone who betrays him." Bonner was snuffling by now, a monogrammed handkerchief held to his streaming eyes. "John Street was two months behind. I... I was three. The cross... it means..."

"Death," said Danny grimly. "We know. So - what was the plan?"

"There _was_ no plan. It was all just talk. At least, that's what I thought, or I'd never have made the suggestion."

"Then it was your idea."

"T-to kidnap his daughter and pay the man back with his own godforsaken money? Y-yes. It was meant to be ironic. A crazy dream, like winning the lottery. John and I have been friends since childhood. I told him my idea and he shared it with Tang. Meeting together... it was fun. Like playing a game. Just a game. But then Tang called me and he said they'd gone and done it - and what should they do with her now? I... well, of course, I panicked. Those fools had no idea who they were messing with. I knew that if Finn found out, he'd kill us for certain."

"Yeah," said Danny. "That much we've seen. He killed Street already. But not Tang?"

"No," Bonner whispered. "He didn't kill Tang. Th-that was McHardy. I sent him there to try and sort things out. B-but something went wrong. And the next thing I know, he's calling to tell me that Ethan is dead and the Finn girl is locked in his trunk."

"Must have made your day. So where are they now?"

Bonner shook his head, pale eyes wide and appealing. "I can't lose the only leverage I have left. When Finn finds out it was me..."

"That's the least of your worries." Jo stood up and dragged the businessman to his feet. "Right now, Finn is up on the roof of Street's building. He's already shot one of my friends, and he's holding another one hostage until he hears that his daughter is freed. You know the man. You know how that's likely to end. So you tell us _right now_. Before both Isla Finn and my friend become the next unlikely victims of your stupid little 'game'."

Releasing her iron grip, she watched Bonner crumple. "I'm so sorry," he moaned.

"Sorry don't cut it," Danny growled. "Where's the girl?"

"My boat." The words were so quiet that they had to lean in closer as he repeated them. "She's on my boat. With McHardy. He's waiting for my instructions."


	14. Chapter 14

The final cigarette came to an end. Bob stubbed it out against the rotting wall. Lighting the empty packet on fire, he threw it into the middle of the floor and watched it burn with morbid fascination.

"I'm sick of this place," he grumbled. "Let's play one more game."

Adam gulped as the tiny flames devoured the useless box. _I hope that's not symbolic..._

"I told you," he said wearily. "I'm not playing your games anymore. Detective Flack is gone, so you can't make me."

They stared at each other across the deepening gloom.

"So you do have a pair," Bob mused. "But remember - I still have the guns."

"Then shoot me," sighed Adam. "Oh, wait - no, you can't do that, can you? 'Cos you still want your daughter..."

In a flash, his enemy was on him, breathing anger and stale cigarette fumes into his face.

"I can't _kill_ you," he said. "Not yet. But if you push me, then you'll see what I _can_ do."

Bob lifted the knife from his pocket and Adam flinched. Though he tried hard not to show it, he had never felt more defeated.

**-x0x-**

Already, the daylight was starting to fade. New York's jagged skyline took on a dusky glow that was far too placid to match the thoughts in Danny's head. He listened to the water lapping against the wooden boards and tried to calm his breathing.

"You okay?" asked Jo, beside him.

"Me? Yeah, sure. I'm fine." He blinked. The woman was still staring - dammit, why did she have to do that? "Okay - I'm wishin' this day could be over, with Adam safely back in the lab, doin' his Adam thing and makin' us laugh. It just isn't right..."

"No, it's not," she agreed, and turned away. He sighed with relief. "But that's what we're here to fix. So - time to go."

Danny lifted his weapon and gazed at the yacht. _Goddess of Fortune._ It seemed so quiet and peaceful. "Prepare to be boarded," he muttered in his best Jack Sparrow accent.

"They're the pirates, Danny. We're the good guys, remember?"

"Sure. No problem." He inched ahead, following the two armed officers who were escorting the CSIs. "Let's just do this, okay?"

Stepping onto the yacht, he felt the sudden shift between his feet, from land to sea. It took a few moments to regain his equilibrium. Not that Danny minded. He liked the feel of the water. Constantly moving and always unpredictable, it balanced the natural flow of his own body and made him feel at ease.

The _Goddess of Fortune_ was large, the pleasure craft of a foolish man who liked to keep up the pretence that he was still wealthy. Her trim was gold and her cabins were extensive. The chances of finding Isla before McHardy noticed their presence were slim to none. Danny sighed. He had slipped into the lead by now, so he pushed through the first door, into a long narrow corridor. "NYPD," he muttered, far too quietly to be heard. Sometimes, the rules were such a pain. Jo flashed him a glance.

"NYPD," she sang out, loud and clear. An answering clatter came from a doorway at the opposite end of the corridor. Danny froze, his fingers clenching tightly around his weapon.

"Is it him?" he hissed. "Or the girl?"

"Can't see through doors," Jo whispered back with unexpected sarcasm. He glanced at her in surprise but didn't respond. The tension of the day was wearing them all down, bit by bit.

"Go away," a gruff voice shouted.

"I'm afraid that's not possible," Jo replied, creeping down the corridor. Danny stayed by her side as well as he could without restricting her movement in such a narrow space. He could smell her perfume, spicy and warm, incongruously cheerful when the moment was so tense.

 _Focus, Danny._ He imagined Lindsay punching his arm. It did the trick, and his head cleared instantly.

"What do you want, then?" the disembodied voice continued, trying to sound unconcerned.

"Bonner gave you up, McHardy. Don't be a jerk," Danny advised. "This can only end one of two ways. And I don't know about you, but I prefer the one where you come out alive. So, whaddaya say?"

"I doubt he's going to fall for that," Jo whispered.

"There's always a first time." And then they both jumped, as a lock was drawn back and a sheepish face appeared at the door. McHardy's top half was naked and damp. His bottom half was - thankfully - draped in a towel.

The room was a shower.

Jo bit her lip and tried not to laugh. Danny was not so subtle.

"Caught in the buff," he grinned as he spun McHardy round and cuffed his hands behind his back. The man was enormous, and could have taken them down in a trice, but there was a dullness behind his eyes that spoke to the reason he had been so easily defeated. Boxing had taken its toll on him long ago, knocking the sense right out of his head.

 _More fool Bonner_ , Danny thought, _trusting McMuscles here to fix his problem. If he hadn't been such a coward, this day might have gone a little differently._

"Where's the girl?" he demanded, squaring up to the giant man like a terrier biting the heels of a startled mastiff.

"She... she's asleep," McHardy stuttered, using his shoulder to point in the general direction. "I put her to sleep. Couldn't stop her from fighting. I didn't want to hurt her... Not like the other one." He sounded so dismal that Danny almost began to feel sorry for him. Almost - but not quite.

As he handed McHardy over to the officers, Jo poked her head through the door that the man had indicated. "Thank the Lord," she sighed. "Look there. The girl's unharmed."

He hastened to join her. Isla Finn, the focus of so much trouble, was curled up on a lower bunk. Her cheeks were flushed and she lay on her side with her long hair tangled around her head like a thicket. Danny released his breath in a long, slow hiss. Then he paused.

"The girl's asleep," he said.

"Yes." Jo nodded patiently.

"For how long?" he continued. "Bob said he wanted to hear her voice, remember?" He rounded on McHardy. "What did you give her?"

"I... I'm not sure. There was a bottle. I use it myself, when I can't sleep." The bodyguard shook his head. "I gave her a couple of spoonfuls... Was that wrong?" He looked forlorn - but all trace of Danny's sympathy had vanished.

"Read the label next time," he growled. "Where'd the bottle go?"

"It was empty. I... I threw it overboard."

**-x0x-**

"I can't do that," Mary Finn gasped. "I can't tell him what to do."

"I'm not asking you," said Lindsay patiently. "All you need to tell him is that Isla is safe and sound."

"But she's not." Mary stroked her daughter's face and hung over her longingly. "She hasn't woken up. Why won't she speak to me?" The tremor in her voice spoke of nerves held captive far too long by a man with a callous heart.

"It's just a sleeping draught." Lindsay wrapped her arm around the woman's shoulder and tried to ease her gently back into her chair. "I promise you. Jo's going to come and sit with her. So she'll be fine, and wide awake by the time we return."

"I'm not leaving this hospital," Mary said stubbornly.

 _Oh, great,_ thought Lindsay. _Now she finds her backbone._ "Look," she began once more, in the calmest tones that she could muster. "We helped you. Now you need to help us. Your husband... Bob Finn," she amended, seeing the look of sudden hatred that flashed across Mary's face. "He still has our friend. And he's hurting him. We need to prove to him that Isla is found. And you're the only one he'll believe."

Mary looked up at last. Her face was white and drawn, but her eyes had regained their clarity. "He's hurting him?"

"I believe so, yes." Lindsay tried to control the tremor in her voice but it was difficult. All she could see was Adam, lost and alone. She looked away for a moment. When she looked back, Mary Finn was nodding.

"My _husband_ shouldn't be allowed to hurt anyone, ever again." She stood up, with one last, loving glance at her daughter. "Take me to him. Quickly, before I lose my nerve."

**-x0x-**

Adam stood on the rooftop alone with a madman and watched the sun go down. There was gooseflesh on his skin, and he shivered uncontrollably. The tattered remains of his t-shirt lay strewn around the workshop, somewhere behind him. His upper half was bare now; naked and vulnerable under the staggering sky. He bowed his head in shame. How had Bob known? How had he reduced him to this? Such a pitiful figure; a broken fool. Every layer stripped away until only his fear was left. And Bob was master of that fear, it seemed.

_"I can see you, Adam Ross," Bob said. "I know the thoughts in your mind. You give them away so easily. All that anyone has to do is watch you. It isn't pain that makes you afraid. You've borne too much of that already in your life. It's almost like an old friend to you by now. You slip it on easily, like a glove or a shoe. No, that isn't it at all. So I'm not going to hurt you."_

_Adam was transfixed by the man's steady gaze and the rhythm of his words. He could feel the cold knife resting against his throat, but Bob was right - it didn't matter anymore._

_"You care too much about other people. You want them to like you. You're terrified when you think you've done something to hurt them, or to show them who you really are inside." Bob gave a wide, mocking smile. "In fact, this whole situation has been the perfect nightmare for you. You've got everything wrong, at every step, like a frightened child, and now your friend is wounded - probably dead, for all you know. As for your boss, he thinks you're so worthless, he left you behind to die."_

_Left you behind to die._

_The echo returned to Adam's head. He tried to close his mind against it, but Bob's leering face was far too close, and nothing could stop the malignant tongue from poisoning him with every single word._

_Suddenly, Bob lashed out with the knife and split his t-shirt wide open, from top to bottom. Adam drew back in horror - but there was nowhere else to go. His hands were crushed behind him as the madman leaned in closer._

_"You've nothing left but your shame," he told Adam, swelling before him in triumph. "Allow me to show you."_

_Slash went the knife again, catching the skin on his shoulder and making him gasp as the shirt fell down on one side. Slash, once again, on the other side - and now there was only his skin left intact. Adam tried to curl in on himself as Bob's hand touched his chest, above his heart, like a creeping sickness._

_"Get off me," Adam cried. "You've got no right."_

_"No right to what?" Bob's dark eyes gleamed in satisfaction as he pulled his hand away. Adam almost expected the skin to be shrivelled and black where his fingers had been. He leaned back on his heels and stared at his prey. "I told you before. You're mine, Adam Ross. Play one more game with me, and you'll know that for sure."_

In the fading light, they stood together, one man in front of the other. Don's gun rested lightly in the curve of Adam's back, just above his tightly bound hands, the barrel cold as ice against his skin.

 _I'm losing my mind,_ he thought, terrified, as the wind whistled round him and through him, and tore the feeling from his flesh. He was so numb by now that he could barely think straight - but still the little voice remained inside him, seeking out the vital, warm-hearted man he had always tried to be. _Don't give up,_ it said softly. _Wait for Mac. Just a little while longer. He's coming._

Mac. Once again, with all the strength that he possessed, Adam dragged out the image of his boss standing quiet and firm on the rooftop opposite. He held it before him like a torch, one that Bob could never see and would never understand.

Faith in another human being and in the God that Mac trusted.

Hope that this would end.

The love of his friends.

"Tell me about your game, then," he challenged the madman. "I'm ready to play."

In return, Bob's voice was eager, but also a little surprised at Adam's new-found determination. "Twenty questions," he said.

"Twenty questions? Is that all?" Adam didn't really know what he had expected, but that wasn't it.

"That's all. Simple, really." Bob leaned in and pointed over his shoulder, across the roof. "I'm sure you'll grasp the concept straight away. I think of something. You ask me questions - a yes or no answer is all that I can give you. If the answer is yes, you stand still. If the answer is no..." He breathed in deeply, full of anticipation. "You step forwards. One step for each wrong answer. Let's see how far that gets us."

"But... that... that could take me..." _All the way to the edge of the roof._ Adam's brain spun frantically, trying to calculate how many footsteps it would take to pitch him right over the edge. Bob had kept his promise. This _was_ to be the very last game of all.

"Only if you fail." Bob shrugged. "No more stalling. Time to begin."

 _Hurry up, Mac,_ thought Adam, chilled by more than the wind. "A-animal?" he said.

"Nope," said Bob. Adam could feel him grinning behind his back as he pushed him forwards.

"V-vegetable?" The cold had got into his chest by now, and every word was an effort.

"No."

"O-okay. Mineral, then."

"No," Bob whispered. "That's three steps forward. Bad luck, Adam."

 _No? What does he mean? That's not possible._ Adam began to panic.

"Do you give up?" asked the killer politely. "If so, you forfeit every answer. Straight to the end."

"No - no! I'm still thinking." Adam forced his tired brain to break through the numbness. _I'm at the lab. Just a day at the lab. Trying to find the answers to a puzzle. Logic, Adam. You're good at that. You can do this..._ Question after question sprang forth in hope, only for Bob to knock him down again. He staggered across the rooftop, one dreadful step at a time. And the edge grew closer. _Surely he won't..._ But the killer's eyes were wild by now, and there was no telling what he would do.

_How can I stop him? He's insane..._

"Question nineteen," hissed Bob.

Adam gazed around him. "Can I see it out here?" he asked desperately.

Bob laughed.

"Not yet," he said. "But you're close now. That's a 'no', by the way."

One more step. Before he even knew what he was doing, Adam's trembling legs had carried him onto the top of the wide parapet.

"Last chance," Bob said. Adam turned to look at him.

 _He doesn't care. Not anymore._ The realisation was a desperate one. _Sunset is here and Mac may have found his daughter - but either way, my life is over. All Bob wants to do right now is send me to my death..._

_My death..._

He locked his legs as firmly as he could and gazed down at the sidewalk, far below.

"The answer is... my death!"

For one triumphant moment, it was worth it for the look upon Bob's face.

"It is," he muttered bitterly.

Adam started to get down - but Bob was in his way and he refused to let him pass.

"Now you stay there," he said. "And we wait for the call together."


	15. Chapter 15

Just seeing Mac's face, with its wary, troubled smile, made Lindsay feel better. She ushered Mary into the room and stood beside her to make a formal introduction. "Mary Finn - this is Detective Mac Taylor."

"I'm sorry to be meeting under these circumstances," said the detective. His voice was warm and full of genuine concern. "How's your daughter?"

Mary ducked her head and clenched her fingers together tightly, fighting against her nervous habit. "Sleeping like a baby," she said, with a casual lightness that Lindsay knew was feigned.

"And I know you probably wish that you were with her right now." Holding out his hand, Mac waited patiently until the woman responded. Ignoring the raw and damaged skin, he clasped her palm against his own. She stared at him, startled. No man in her life had ever been so gently, Lindsay suspected. "I'm so sorry we had to drag you away."

"No - I'm sorry. My... Robert caused all of this. How... how is your friend?"

"Adam Ross. He's a good man. If he knew that you were here to help him, he'd be so grateful."

Mary nodded awkwardly. The easy, thoughtful manner of these people was clearly making her uncomfortable. She didn't know how to handle herself - what to say, what to do or even where to look. Turning her head, she searched around for somewhere quiet to wait that was out of the way. Mac saw her need and leapt to help her.

"Here, take this chair," he offered, scraping it back so that she could sit down. Standing behind her, he couldn't see the tears that filled her eyes, but Lindsay could. Moving in front of her, she crouched down and looked up into her face. 

"Mrs. Finn. We won't do this until you're quite ready." It cost her dearly to say those words.

Mary grabbed the heel of her palm across her cheek and shook her head. "No. We can do it now. I know my... Robert. Your friend shouldn't have to suffer because I can't control my feelings. Please. I think I need to get it over with. Or I'll be too scared to do it at all."

"Very well," said Mac. "Then it's time. And thank you. I really don't want to leave Adam alone with Finn a moment longer."

**-x0x-**

The person at the centre of all their thoughts was standing twenty-eight storeys up, with a killer behind him and nothing before him but empty space and a drop that made his heart clench in his chest.

 _I'm not afraid of heights,_ he kept telling himself. _Just look straight ahead. Don't look down..._ His blue eyes drifted, dazzled by the lights that were starting to bloom all over the city. _So pretty,_ he thought in baffled wonderment. _Why did I never notice before?_

The chill had spread through to his bones by now, but Adam barely felt it. Alarm bells rang in his head, but he missed those too. He swayed in the breeze, from side to side, and let his imagination wander freely over the fiery clouds and darkening rooftops. _City's burning... So warm... Don't let the crime lab catch on fire... All those chemicals. That'd be some explosion. Boom!_ Liking the sound of this word in his head, he tried it out loud, as his thoughts ran on to Danny. "Boom!" he giggled.

"Are you cracking up?" asked Bob. Adam turned round - at least, his head did. His thoughts took a little while longer to catch up.

"Wha...? No," he grinned. "But look - it's a lovely view."

"I don't care." Bob jabbed at him with Don's gun, making him wobble. Adam's senses rushed back to save him. He barely caught himself, and gasped in fright. At the same time, Bob gave a start as the radio came to life in his pocket.

 _Mac,_ thought Adam dizzily. _Time to fly..._

"You took your sweet time," Bob growled, bringing the device to his lips. "I hope you've got her."

 _I hope so too. Poor girl._ Adam strained his ears, trying to catch the reply.

"We have," said his boss.

"So put her on," Bob demanded. "Let me hear her voice. Then you can have your fool of a scientist. No Isla, no Adam."

 _Liar,_ sang the voice in Adam's head.

"First let me know that he's alright."

Bob glared in Adam's direction. "Say something," he commanded.

Adam's brain turned slowly. "Hey, Mac," he managed at last. "I'm here. It's okay."

"Are you hurt?"

"Um... I'm cold," he offered randomly. "Could use a d-decent shirt right now. Bulletproof, like that magic one of yours."

"Enough rambling," Bob snapped. "Put my daughter on. Then we can finish this."

The rooftop was silent as both men waited. Only the wind sighed unhappily.

"Robert?" said a wary voice. Even Adam could tell that this wasn't a child.

"Mary." Bob's face grew stony. "What kind of trick _is_ this, woman?"

"Isla's okay. They wanted me to tell you. She's just... sleeping."

"Sleeping. As in dead?"

"No! No. The man who took her gave her some medicine. She'll be awake in an hour or so."

"You stupid cow." Bob's sibilant whisper made Adam's flesh crawl. "Don't let them use you like this. They're trying to trick me."

"I'm not stupid, Robert." Mary's voice rose higher. Bob pulled the radio back in surprise. "And Isla _is_ safe. What's more, we're _both_ safe. And we're not coming back to you - ever. You've lost us both, I can promise you that."

"Then I'll see you in hell!"

To Adam's horror, Bob tossed the radio over the side of the building. For a moment, both men followed its quiet descent with their eyes. Then they stared at each other. There was only one way for Bob to vent his fury - and Adam knew for certain how it would be. He braced himself, as Bob leapt up onto the ledge.

"Nice knowing you, Adam Ross," he snarled, flinging Don's gun away from him too, and seizing the lab tech's hair. He twisted it between his fingers tightly, a death grip that he did not plan to break. "Let's end this game together."

 _Shoot him,_ thought Adam desperately... but he knew that the sniper's chance had already been lost. One shot, two victims. Unacceptable.

_I don't want to die..._

Cursing the fact that his wrists were tied, Adam threw all his weight away from Bob and tried to topple them both in the safest direction. But Bob was still much stronger than him, and fuelled even more by selfish rage and bitter disappointment. Together, they wrangled back and forth, each man trying to gain the advantage. Adam was screaming in pain and fear by now. Bob fought in deadly silence. Neither heard the door crash open behind them.

"Stand still!" barked a voice, so close that it startled them both. Adam was first to recover. Grabbing the only advantage he was ever likely to get, he hooked his foot around Bob's leg and pulled - just as the other man saw his plan and tried to twist away.

Gravity laughed, and snapped its fingers.

Losing all sense of direction, Adam toppled through the air. His only fierce delight as he fell was the knowledge that Bob was with him.


	16. Chapter 16

Mac thought that his heart would stop completely when the two men fell through the air. Time slowed down, as he tried to work out which way they were tilting. The sound that they made as they hit the rooftop in front of him was the best thing he had heard in a very long time.

Stunned by the landing, Bob let go and Adam was thrown from his clutches at last. Mac ran towards him, halting in surprise when he finally saw the state of his friend. Adam's swollen eyes were closed, his face was a mess and his upper body was marked with an ugly patchwork of nicks and bruises. Just looking at him made Mac feel cold, and he tore off his jacket, draping it over the man to hide his indignity. He knew how much that would mean to Adam. The warm and thoughtful action eased the lab tech back to his senses. Opening his blue eyes, he stared up in bewilderment.

"Mac," he cried out. "Did I fly?"

Mac smiled with joyous relief.

"No, Adam. I'm afraid you're still on the rooftop."

"Oh." Adam thought about that for a moment and then his gaze darkened. "And... is he...? Is...? Oh, Mac..." His words trailed off into a painful silence. A lump rose up in Mac's throat.

Reaching a hand out, he hauled the man to his feet and untied the cord around his wrists.

"See for yourself," he suggested.

Bob was pinned like a beetle on his back, with Baxter and four other officers straining to hold him as he kicked, and spat, and struggled.

"Not dead, then," Adam whispered.

"Neither are you," said Mac.

Standing beside his boss at last, Adam let out a long, shuddering breath. Then he stared down at his foe with unreadable eyes.

"Think you've won?" shrieked Bob, who was looking far less frightening and far more desperate now.

"Yes," said Adam. "I do."

And he walked away. Mac kept a casual arm around his shoulder, holding him up. He could see the tremor in the other man's limbs, but he knew that Adam needed to leave this scene right now, before shock overwhelmed him completely.

His efforts didn't go unnoticed. "Thanks, boss," Adam whispered, as he finally passed through the doorway out of his nightmare and into the real world once more.

Game over.

**-x0x-**

"I'm so sorry," Mary gasped as Mac knocked politely and entered Isla's hospital room. It was the tenth time at least that she had apologised. He shook his head and dismissed her words with a gentle flick of his hand.

"I told you. It's done. Adam is safe, and so are you."

"But I nearly killed him." Her eyes were bloodshot and raw around the edges from too much crying. _Time to heal,_ thought Mac.

"No, that was your husband. Ex-husband, I imagine, very soon." He smiled across at Jo. The dark-haired woman perched gracefully on a plastic chair in the corner of the room. Only she could make a hospital chair look elegant. "And I believe I know someone who could give you plenty of advice on that subject."

"Already have," Jo admitted, looking suitably penitent. She rose to her feet. Isla lifted a sleepy head from the pillow and turned to watch her as she walked towards the door.

"Thank you," whispered the girl.

"Yes - thank you so much," Mary agreed fervently. The exhausted mother sat down next to her child and smoothed her hair with trembling fingers. Mac turned back for one final look as Jo dragged him from the room.

"Leave them in peace," she chided. "Let's get a coffee. If you're as parched as I am, then..."

"Then my throat's as dry as a creek bed in a drought?" Mac suggested. His eyes lit up with a rare mischievous glow as he watched the slow smile spread across her face.

"Mac Taylor! I guess you've been talking to Lindsay. Are you teasing me?"

"I would never," he told her seriously. "Go, fetch your coffee. I've just got a couple more stops to make."

"I know." She tilted her head. "We did good, Mac. Lord, what a horrible day."

 _We did good,_ he echoed silently, as he watched her walk away.

**-x0x-**

Next stop was Adam's room - but to his surprise, the bed was empty; sheets askew and pillows shoved underneath them in a vain attempt to make the place look occupied. "Oh, Adam," he grumbled. Turning away, he thought for a moment, and smiled. _So predictable._

Retracing his steps along the corridor and round a corner to another section of the ward, he followed his hunch to a third hospital room. Mac was about to go in when an unexpected hiss made him rock on his heels.

"Pssst! No - don't," said an urgent, familiar voice. "Just give him a moment."

The detective turned around.

There, perched on a bed in an empty cubicle, sat Officer Sanchez, swinging her legs. Beside her, a nurse stood, grinning. Mac looked suspicious.

"What's going on?"

Sanchez shrugged. "Your CSI begged for a favour. Helen here was kind enough to grant it. She snuck him out of his room."

"For the good of his health," the nurse added, winking at Mac. "Poor man was fretting. Needed to set his mind at ease."

"I understand," Mac nodded pleasantly. The charm that Adam possessed was far more powerful than he knew, or would ever believe. "But I don't think they'll mind if I join them." Crossing back to the door, he started to push it open. Fragments of a conversation slipped out through the crack and made him pause. Curiosity fought with guilt and won, as he listened, unobserved.

**-x0x-**

"I'm so glad you're okay," Adam breathed. "They wouldn't tell me anything properly. That's why I had to come and see for myself."

"Well, now you see me." Don grinned woozily. "How 'bout you?"

"Oh - me? I'm fine." Adam flushed as he gave the same old answer. He picked at the bedsheet with nervous fingers. "Just a couple of bruises. You know?"

"Yes," said Don. "I know." He shifted himself up higher on his pillows and stared at Adam with eyes that were suddenly sharp. "I know what you did."

"Wha... what did I do?" Adam gulped. His mind raced as he thought back through the catalogue of disasters that had marked his first day as a CSI in training. _Last day,_ he reminded himself with a sigh.

"Adam - you're such an idiot sometimes. Don't beat yourself up. You saved me. I heard you, okay?"

"Not me." Adam shook his head. "That was Mac. Remember?"

"Sure, Mac. I know that. But first there was you. You stood up to him, Adam. You begged him to let me go. And you offered to stay behind. I think, if you hadn't done that, maybe Mac would have failed as well."

Adam's eyes grew wide and his mouth dropped open. "You heard? You heard me say that? I thought you were asleep."

"With all that jabbering? Fat chance." Don smirked and closed his eyes, glad to have said his piece. "And I'll be telling Mac as well."

"Oh - no, don't do that." Adam shook his head. "I don't deserve it."

"Too late," said Mac as he slipped into the room. Honour would not let him stay outside a moment longer. Besides, the look on Adam's face was worth a little embarrassment.

"Hey, Mac." Don opened his eyes and grinned. "You come to fetch this runaway already?"

"If you're done with him." Mac watched as Adam shuffled to his feet. Clearly in pain, but dogged as ever, the lab tech tried to look nonchalant. "I'll be back in a while. Can I get you anything?"

"I like the sound of Adam's nurse..." Don suggested, settling his hands behind his head.

 _No worries there, then._ Don was going to be just fine. Smiling to himself, Mac took Adam's arm and steered him out of the room.

**-x0x-**

"I blew it. Didn't I?" Adam tugged on his hospital gown. His eyes were carefully blank. Mac was uneasy. He recognised that look all too well. He'd worn it himself in the past.

"Blew what?" He chose not to understand Adam's comment, wanting to push the man further and make him follow this train of thought on his own, out loud. Adam was far too reticent when it came to the things that hurt him. _Hypocrite,_ he told himself wryly. But knowing his own flaws might show him how to help this man now. Mac

waited.

"You trusted me. 'Don't let me down', that's what you said." Adam's voice was choked as he remembered the conversation.

"I remember."

"So... I did let you down, right? I left the crime scene and didn't tell them where I was going. I put myself in danger, and Detective Flack as well."

"Yes. You did that."

Adam frowned, unaccountably irritated by Mac's manner.

"And I'm in trouble, okay? You're probably just being kind and waiting till I feel better so you can drag me into your office and suspend me for a month. Or maybe..." 

"Fire you?" Mac's eyes bored into him. "Are you finished?"

"Y-yes." He stuttered to a halt.

Steering him into a quiet alcove, Mac gripped his shoulders firmly. He was shocked to feel how badly the man was shivering again. Cold? Or distress? Mac suspected it was the latter. And he knew that he needed to fix it, right away. "Adam. At one time or another, every one of us has made a poor decision. We're human, okay?"

"Even you?"

He laughed at the man's stubborn faith. He couldn't help it. "Even me. Remember Clay Dobson?" He paused, as a grinning vision leapt off a rooftop. Today had been a stark reminder. _So close..._ "What really matters is how you choose to deal with your mistake. I fought with mine, but in the end, I accepted the consequences. So did you. I heard what Don said just now. You saved him, Adam. Somehow, the two of you managed to stay alive - and I'm beginning to think that a lot of that was down to you. The girl is safe, the bad guy's been arrested, and I think you've had enough 'punishment' for one small mistake. Don't you?"

Adam leaned against the wall. Mac stooped talking and took a good look at his face. Bruises stood out in stark relief against the waxy pallor of his skin - but his eyes were shining. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft as though he hardly dared to believe what he was saying.

"Then... you still think I'd be a good CSI?"

Mac smiled.

"I had my doubts," he admitted. "I don't anymore."

Blinking shyly, Adam smiled back. He looked as though an enormous weight had fallen from his shoulder. _Subject closed,_ Mac guessed.

They moved out of the alcove. Adam prodded at the tape across his nose experimentally. "Oof," he said. "Sore.

"I'm sure it is." Mac stared down the corridor. Jo was heading in their direction, two cups of coffee steaming in her hands. Seeing her reminded him of something. He turned back to Adam.

"I'm curious, by the way. Which of you punched Bob in the face and made his nose bleed like that?"

Adam halted. He stared back at his boss, and then at Jo. "You had a pool going.. didn't you?" he said accusingly.

"More like an ongoing discussion."

"And I'm betting that everyone thought it was Detective Flack. Am I right?"

Mac nodded again.

"Apart from Jo," Adam whispered fondly, watching her stroll towards them, oblivious.

"Apart from Jo. She backed you all the way."

"And she was right." Adam closed his eyes and then smiled; a genuine, playful smile that lit up the whole of his face at last. "It was me. I did it."

Mac sighed. "I'm proud of you Adam," he said, as Jo spotted them at last and attempted a precarious, coffee-laden wave. "But really, that's not the news I was hoping for. Knowing that she was right and we were wrong?" He shook his head regretfully, grinning all the while. "She's going to be impossible to live with..."


End file.
